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“ Putting out a hand he touched her gently.” 


Page 30. 


FOR 


THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

And Other Stories 





MARSHALL SAUNDERS 


Author of “ Beautiful Joe 


^8r 


Xoi OF COfjn ^. 


NOV 5 W 


PHILADELPHIA m* *> 

CHARLES H. BANES— 1420 Chestnut Street 
1896 



Copyright 1896 by 
Charles H. Banes 


(gratefully ©e&lcateb 

TO 

COLONEL CHARLES HENRY BANES 

OF PHILADELPHIA 

A WARM FRIEND OF CHILDREN AND TO HUMANITY 
AT WHOSE SUGGESTION AND BY WHOSE 
KIND ADVICE AND ENCOURAGEMENT 
THESE STORIES WERE WRITTEN 





CONTENTS 


I. For the Other Boy’s Sake, 7 

II. Poor Jersey City, 49 

III. When He Was a Boy, 77 

IV. The Little Page, 114 

V. Her Excellency’s Jewels, 133 

VI. Jack, the Minister’s Dog, 159 

VII. The Two Kaloosas, 192 

VIII. Bunny Boy, 213 

IX. Ten Little Indians, 261 

X. Jessie’s Debt, 295 

XI. Proud Tommie, 318 


\ 


I 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


DOCTOR stood looking down at a pa- 
tient with rather a concerned face. She 
was quite an old woman and he was 
quite a young man. She was stern and 
hard, and he certainly was one of the 
kindest-hearted young men that ever lived. 

“ And you think you are no better this morn- 
ing, Miss Rivers ? ” he said gently. 

“ I’m never better,” she said shortly ; “ I’m 
always worse.” 

“ I think if you got about a little more,” he 
returned in a persuasive voice, “it would be 
better for you.” 

“Why?” she asked obstinately. “No one 
wishes to see me, not even the horde of relatives 
who are longing to get my money.” 

“You are suffering from that disease called 
1 riches,’ ” thought the doctor to himself. “ I wish 
you were a poor woman, and I would send you 
to the wash-tub or the scrubbing-brush.” 

Miss Rivers laid her hands on the wheels of 
her invalid’s chair and moved herself a little 
nearer to the doctor, who was standing up. 



8 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

“Young man,” she said harshly, “you know 
that I am lame, and why do you talk about my 
getting out of doors and exerting myself. That 
is another reason for staying at home.” 

“ You could walk a little if you tried,” he said, 
“and you could drive.” 

“ I am a proud woman,” she said abruptly, 
“ and you know I am. Perhaps some day when 
I get used to this lameness I will go, but not 
yet. I am not going to be carried to places 
where I formerly went on my own two feet. 
What does it matter anyway whether I go out 
or not ? There is nothing in this world to live 
for.” 

The young man put up both hands to his 
head. “ Dear me, Miss Rivers, what a sentiment 
in this world of sin and sorrow. One can do so 
much for other people ; I wish I could take you 
on my rounds for one day.” 

Miss Rivers smiled grimly at his earnestness. 
“ Of course there is trouble, young man, awful 
trouble ; but what can one person do to help it ? 
You had better let things alone.” 

“ I don’t believe that,” he said ; “ let each one 
do a little to help his neighbor, then the world 
will get better.” 

“ Good-morning,” said Miss Rivers ; “ go where 
you can do some good and don’t waste any more 
time on me. We never agree about anything.” 

The young man smiled at her, and shaking 
his head went slowly down a carved staircase 
muttering to himself : “ The curse of the world 
is selfishness. I wish I could do something to 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 9 

rouse that woman from her unhappy condition. 
She is getting worse and worse.” 

Dr. Jeffrey’s next visit was to a small and 
miserable house on the outskirts of the town. 
He drew up his sleigh in front of a broken gate, 
lifted out a weight which he attached to his 
horse’s head, then strode up a narrow path lead- 
ing to the door. 

It was a chilly, disagreeable day and the chil- 
dren of the house were playing indoors. They 
were all ragged and dirty, and they hung over a 
still more ragged and dirty baby whose fingers 
were red and chilled and half buried in a frozen 
squash that he was pulling to pieces and throw- 
ing about him. 

The air was full of laughing exclamations, for 
the children were a happy, jolly set in spite 
of their rags and squalor. An untidy-looking 
mother stepped in a leisurely fashion about the 
room, lifting pots and pans and occasionally 
stirring the fire in a rusty stove. 

“Well,” said the doctor, standing on the 
threshold, “why have you sent for me, Mrs. 
Jackson ? You all seem pretty well this morn- 
ing.” 

The woman turned her sooty face toward him. 
“ It’s Sammy, doctor ; he has brown kittis in his 
throat,” and she pulled aside a woolen shawl 
from a child who lay on a low bed in the corner. 

The doctor stepped up to him. “ What have 
you been doing to him? This does not look 
like bronchitis.” 


IO 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


“ Yes, sir ; ’tis brown kittis,” said the woman 
convincingly. “ I tried to make cough medicine 
from a receipt in the paper and sent to the drug- 
store for potash, and the druggist he sent me 
something that I put in, but Sammy was that 
sick I thought he was pisened and the druggist 
came running up and snatched the bottle and 
threw all the stuff out on the snow and gave 
Sammy some flaxseed tea.” 

“Where did he throw it?” asked Dr. Jeffrey. 

Mrs. Jackson pointed to a snowbank near the 
door and the doctor stepped out to examine it. 

When he came back he had some red crystals 
on a bit of paper. 

“Is it pisen ? ” asked the woman eagerly. 

“We won’t say what it is, as the grains did not 
all dissolve,” said the doctor ; “ now let me see 
my patient again.” 

While the gentleman sat with the child’s dirty 
wrist in his hand, his eyes wandered around the 
roughly plastered room where hung various torn 
garments, a clock that was six hours too fast, 
and a number of tools and household utensils. 

“Are you happy, Mrs. Jackson?” he said, 
turning suddenly to her. 

The woman laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, 
sir ; ’specially if my man doesn’t get out of 
work.” 

“ Strange,” said the doctor to himself ; then he 
said aloud, “ Can’t you keep your house a little 
more tidy ? ” 

“ Bless you, sir, I’ll try when the children are 
riz. What could you make of this muddle with 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


II 


six of them underfoot and a frozen gutter and 
two banks of snow to cross to fetch every drop 
of water you use. Do you think that you could 
do any better? ” 

“ I don’t know that I could,” and the doctor 
smiled at her ; “ yet it is a terrible thing to be so 
dirty, and most unwholesome for these chil- 
dren.” 

“ If you rich people would build decent houses 
for us poor ones we’d live better,” said Mrs. 
Jackson. “ Think of renting a shanty like this,” 
and she looked disdainfully around the wretch- 
edly built abode. 

“Who is your landlord?” asked Dr. Jeffrey. 

“ Miss Rivers, the rich old miser. She owns 
every house on this road, and I guess she’d fall 
down in a fit if she stepped into one of them.” 

“ I guess she would,” muttered the doctor, 
then he turned his attention to the sick child. 

He was in the midst of giving directions to 
the mother as to the nursing and medicine, when 
there was an outcry from the children, who had 
moved in a body from the stove to the small 
window which they were daubing with their 
squash-streaked hands. 

“Mammy,” exclaimed the eldest boy, “here’s 
a coach afore the door and the doctor’s horse is 
nipping at the coach horses.” 

Mrs. Jackson ran to the door and opened it. 

“ Mercy on us,” the doctor heard her say, then 
she stood stock-still in the doorway. 

Presently she held out her hand, took hold of 
a small boy who was walking up the path 


12 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

toward her, and silently ushered him into the 
room. 

The doctor looked curiously at him. Such a 
strange little figure stood before him. He could 
not guess the lad’s age, for he was deformed. 
There was a lump on his back, and his pale, 
thoughtful face was set deeply between his 
shoulders. His expression was composed, criti- 
cal, and curiously unchildish as he looked about 
the comfortless abode. 

“Now, who are you?” asked the woman in 
quiet desperation. 

“I’m Jeremiah Gay, your nephew,” said the 
boy, rolling his grave black eyes up at her, 

“And your mother’s dead and you’ve been 
sent to live with me, haven’t you?” pursued 
Mrs. Jackson in a still more desperate tone of 
voice. 

“ Yes,” said the boy, “ if I don’t crowd you,” 
and he surveyed the somewhat limited space 
about him with a smile. 

“ This is a boy that has some sense of humor,” 
murmured the doctor. 

“ Now, doctor, just look here,” said Mrs. Jack- 
son in a tearful voice ; “ look at that boy’s good 
clothes and the little bag of him,” pointing to 
the portmanteau on the floor, “and look at the 
children of me,” pointing to the ragged, gaping 
group at the window, “ and ask yourself if it’s 
fair. Where am I to put him ? What’ll I feed 
him on ? I suppose you’re used to silver spoons 
and all that sort of thing, aren’t you, sonny ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Aunt Martha, there are six in my 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 1 3 

bag and a silver mug — I always drink out of 
it.” 

“ Oho, oho, he’s the very double of my sister 
that’s dead and gone,” said Mrs. Jackson, sud- 
denly throwing her apron over her head, and I’ll 
never see her again,” and dropping on a stool 
she rocked to and fro. 

“ My mother is in heaven, living with God,” 
said the little boy ; “ don’t cry, she wouldn’t be 
happy if she were here.” 

Mrs. Jackson snatched her apron from her 
head. “ Oh, it’s scorning me you are, is it ? I 
guess I’m as good as anybody.” 

“Shall I tell you how my mother died?” 
asked the boy, fixing his solemn eyes on her. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Jackson. “Tell me the 
whole of it ; I’ve not heard a word.” 

“She lay on her bed and cried, ‘ Lord Jesus, 
come and take me quickly,’ ” said the boy. “ Her 
body was full of pain. I put ice on her forehead 
and she begged me not to cry. I think it would 
be wrong to wish her back. I cry to go to her 
sometimes, not for her to come to me.” 

There was a hush for a few minutes in the 
tiny house. Even the children were awed by 
the boy’s sweet voice and the sudden spiritual 
beauty that lit up his face. 

“ Who was your mother, and from what place 
do yon come ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ My mother was a widow, and she lived in 
Riverfield,” said the boy, mentioning a country 
place a hundred miles distant from the town 
they were near. “ We had a little house by the 


14 for the other boy’s sake 

river. My father, who is dead, was a carpenter, 
and my mother took in sewing for a living.” 

“ And now you have come to live with your 
aunt,” pursued Dr. Jeffrey. 

The child’s lip quivered, then he said bravely, 
“ I suppose so — the neighbors sent me here.” 

He was plainly but neatly dressed. His cuffs 
and collar were beautifully white, and the little 
handkerchief peeping from his pocket was like 
a bit of snowdrift. 

“ He can’t stay in this wretched place,” thought 
the doctor, “and never having seen the people 
before he hasn’t any attachment for them. I 
wonder if I can help him. Mrs. Jackson,” he 
said, rising, “suppose I take this small boy 
away for a few days till you get things straight- 
ened out here or else move into a better house. 
I will see Miss Rivers’ agent.’’ 

“ May God bless you, sir, for a gentleman and 
a man of heart, as well as a good doctor,” said 
the woman enthusiastically. 

“Nevermind thanking me,” said the doctor, 
drawing the skirts of his coat away from the 
eager, grasping hands, “ unless you wish to do so 
by keeping your house a little more tidy. Come 
along, little boy — what is your name — Jeremiah 
what ? ” 

“Jeremiah Gay,” said the boy, looking at him 
with grateful eyes. 

“ Rather a contradiction of terms ; however, 
Jeremiah Gay give me your bag. Good-morn- 
ing, Mrs. Jackson,” and the doctor with a last 
look at his patient left the house. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 1 5 

“ Now that I have got you, my young white ele- 
phant,” said the doctor looking at the boy seated 
beside him in the sleigh, “ what am I to do with 
you ? ” 

Jeremiah said nothing, but continued to gaze 
straight ahead of him with clasped hands and a 
radiant face. 

4 ‘Why do you look so pleased?” asked the 
doctor. 

“Is it wrong for me to be happy because I 
have left my aunt ? ” asked the child. 

“No, under the circumstances I don’t think 
it is,” said the doctor. 

“We were always poor, my mother and I,” 
said the boy, “but we were always clean.” 

“You have been well brought up; your 
mother must have been a superior woman.” 

“ She was the best mother a little boy ever 
had,” said Jeremiah. “ Sometimes when I think 
of her it seems as if everything was gone.” 

“ Poor child,” muttered the young man ; then 
he said aloud : “ Well, what am I to do with you? 
I’m exceedingly busy this morning. I think I 
will drop you at my hotel and later in the day I 
will look up a place for you.” 

“Very well, sir,” said Jeremiah; then he con- 
tinued to watch with interest the numbers of 
people passing along the streets. Presently the 
doctor heard him murmur, “ Is it a picnic ? ” 

“No,” said his friend, “that is a horse car, a 
public conveyance to take people about the city. 
Have you never seen one before?” 

“ Never,” said the boy turning his head to look 


1 6 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

after it. “I made sure it was a picnic wagon. 
It looks so merry to see the horses trotting along 
and to hear the bells ringing.” 

“ Some day you shall go in one,” said the doc- 
tor. “ Here we are at the hotel. Can you jump 
out alone? ” 

Jeremiah stepped carefully to the sidewalk and 
very quietly but with great curiosity followed 
his guide. 

There were no hotels in Riverfield ; he had 
never seen anything like this before and he 
gazed in intense admiration at the mirrors, the 
potted plants, the comfortable seats, the well- 
dressed people, and above all the smart bell boys 
about him. 

Without saying a word and with admirable 
control of himself he kept close to his friend and 
with only an occasional glance at the trim lad 
behind who was carrying his bag he entered the 
elevator which he imagined was a small and sta- 
tionary waiting room. 

The shock to his nervous system when it 
started was considerable. With a startled “ Oh,” 
of dismay, he grasped Dr. Jeffrey’s hand. 

The young man looked kindly down at him. 
“ I beg your pardon, small boy, I should have 
warned you, but I forgot that you were probably 
unused to these things.” 

“ What makes it go ? ” gasped Jeremiah in the 
midst of his fright. 

While the doctor was explaining the motive 
power to him they halted and stepped out of it 
to traverse more halls. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 1 7 

Jeremiah’s pale face flushed with sudden de- 
light when the door of a handsome suite of 
rooms was thrown open. He had never in his 
life seen anything so beautiful as this. The sun- 
light was pouring in through silk curtains and 
shining on fine pictures, soft carpets, and best of 
all, on a bank of real flowers blooming between 
the two windows. 

He went down on his knees before the flowers. 
“They sing a hymn in the Riverfield church,” 
he said with enthusiasm, “about how fair the 
lily grows, and how sweet the bloom beneath the 
hill of Sharon’s dewy rose ” 

He stopped suddenly, for Dr. Jeffrey was smil- 
ing and the bell boy was making a face at him. 
The picture of the old country church with the 
sounding board over the pulpit and the high- 
backed seats faded away. He felt that he had 
gotten into a new world. These people did not 
understand him. 

“I must leave you now,” said the doctor. 
“You can amuse yourself with the books and the 
pictures till I come back ; but first, will you have 
something to eat? ” 

“lam not very hungry,” said Jeremiah quietly. 

“What did you have for breakfast?” asked 
Dr. Jeffrey. 

“I had none, sir; my lunch gave out and I 
thought I would save my money.” 

“That won’t do — you must have something 
at once ; what would you like ? ” 

“ Well,” said Jeremiah slowly, “I am very 
fond of bread and molasses.” 

B 


\8 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

“Anything else?” asked Dr. Jeffrey. 

“ And pitcher tea to drink.” 

“ I don’t know that kind of tea,” said the doc- 
tor gravely, “do you? ’’and he turned to the 
bell boy. 

“No, sir, I don’t,” was the reply. 

“ Pitcher tea,” said Jeremiah, “is a jug full of 
milk and hot water with a little molasses in it, 
or sugar if you have any.” 

“Very good,” said Dr. Jeffrey, “see that he 
has some. Now is there anything further? 
What you have mentioned is not very substan- 
tial.” 

“ Perhaps a little cold meat, if you have some 
to spare,” said Jeremiah addressing the bell boy, 
“not much, I am not a hearty eater.” 

“ Bring him a good lunch,” said the doctor to 
the boy, “ and have it here in five minutes. I 
want to see him started before I go out.” 

The boy hurried away and the doctor turned 
his attention to his small guest. 

“ I believe I’ll have lunch with you,” he said 
when a tray of good things arrived. “It is a 
trifle early, but it will save time,” and he sat 
down at a small table with Jeremiah. 

Half an hour he remained, alternately eating 
and questioning the quaint little lad opposite 
him. 

Jeremiah’s solemn black eyes, his old-fash- 
ioned, droll, and often pathetic manner, and his 
pitiable deformity made him the oddest speci- 
men of boyhood, that he had ever seen. 

“ You are a queer lad,” said the doctor finally, 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 1 9 

throwing liis napkin on the table and getting up ; 
“ you make me forget the lapse of time about as 
well as anybody I know. Good-bye for the 
present. You will see me later in the day.” 

Then he went away and straightway forgot all 
about the little lad in his rush of work. 

Jeremiah left alone made a tour of the rooms. 
While crossing the doctor’s dressing room he 
stopped short with a cry of pain. Did he look 
like that ? 

He had never before obtained a full view of 
himself. There was the cruel folding glass 
before him revealing so plainly his stunted 
figure and the hump on his back. He threw 
himself on a sofa and buried his face in his 
hands. 

He was aroused by a long low whistle of sur- 
prise. The bell boy had come to take away the 
lunch dishes and looking for Jeremiah and find- 
ing him in such a position had naturally con- 
cluded that he was ill. 

Jeremiah sprang up and stared at him. 

“ What’s up with you, kid ? ” asked the boy 
not unkindly. 

Jeremiah hesitated — then he thought of a big 
word that his school teacher used in speaking 
of her pupils when there was a falling short in 
any way of a desired standard, “I am thinking 
of my deficiencies,” he said bravely. 

“ Oh, are you, though,” said the other boy, not 
quite sure of himself. 

Jeremiah did not wish to pursue the subject. 
He glanced about the dressing room then out 


20 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


into the bedroom beyond, where there was a big 
double bed. 

“Who is the other party that shares these 
rooms ? ” he asked with a businesslike air. 

“ What other party ? ” asked the boy. 

“ The man that lives with Dr. Jeffrey ? ” 

“ You’re the only man that I know of,” was 
the reply ; “ what a game question. Did you 
think the doctor had some one in with him ? ” 

“Yes,” said Jeremiah slowly. 

“ Why some of the people in the hotel have 
more rooms than this,” said the boy. “ This is 
a little suite compared to them.” 

Jeremiah said nothing ; he was beginning to 
learn many things. 

“ Say, who is your tailor? ” asked the boy con- 
fidentially. 

Jeremiah glanced at the neat black suit that 
his mother had made and that had been consid- 
ered ultra-fashionable in cut and fit in River- 
field, but which somehow or other did not com- 
pare favorably with the bell boy’s snug livery. 

He was about to give to his new friend in a 
confiding manner the history not only of his 
garments but of all his personal affairs, when a 
distant bell rang. It made the bell boy jump 
and set to work at his delayed task of clearing 
away the dishes with a strange exclamation that 
Jeremiah had never heard before. 

“ I am becoming the most forgetful person in 
the world — that boy has quite slipped my mind,” 
exclaimed Dr. Jeffrey, at ten o’clock that night. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


21 


He was standing in the library of an older 
physician where they had withdrawn for a little 
private conversation. Dr. Jeffrey had suddenly 
started up and struck himself a smart slap on the 
chest. 

“ A patient ? ” asked his friend. 

“ No — a waif I picked up. Good-night, I must 
get home and see to him. I left him in my 
rooms. He may have wandered away,” and he 
shook hands with his friend and hastened from 
the house. 

With quick steps he walked along the street, 
entered the hotel, and hurried upstairs to his 
rooms. 

Where was Jeremiah? Ah! there curled up 
in a little bed that the doctor had ordered to be 
put in his dressing room, his head a dark silky 
spot on the pillow. 

He lifted his head when he heard the doctor 
coming. “ Ah, it is you, sir,” he said quietly. 

“Yes, did you think that I had forgotten 
you ? ” 

“ No, sir ; but I was listening for your step.” 

There was something very pitiful about the 
little face upraised to him and Dr. Jeffrey with- 
out knowing why he did so felt his heart touched 
with a sudden and quicker sympathy. He 
seemed to feel himself a small deformed child 
alone in a big hotel, alone in the world, no one 
to cling to but a comparative stranger, and for 
that stranger’s returning footsteps he lay listen- 
ing alone. 

“You have been crying,” he said. 


22 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


“ Yes, sir,” said Jeremiah quietly, “ and I was 
very sorry for I could not see to read my verses. 
Both my eyes felt as if they had gone swimming 
in the river. Perhaps if you are not in much of 
a hurry to go to bed you will read to me.” 

With a queer smile Dr. Jeffrey took the little 
Bible that Jeremiah drew from under his pillow 
and turned it over and over in his hands. Eliza- 
beth Gay was written on the fly leaf. He had 
seen his own mother handling just such a Bible, 
and the worn black covers and the marked 
places took him suddenly back to his boyhood 
when he had stood by that mother’s knee and 
listened to her calm voice that he would never 
hear again in this world. 

“ It was a wedding present to my mother,” 
said Jeremiah ; “ she said it was the best one she 
got, and the one she loved the most.” 

“ Where shall I read? ” asked the young man 
abruptly. 

“Anywhere — it is all good.” 

Dr. Jeffrey began the twenty-first chapter of 
Revelation, “And I saw a new heaven and a 
new earth.” When he reached the fourth verse, 
“ And God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes ; and there shall be no more death, neither 
sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any 
more pain, for the former things are passed 
away,” Jeremiah said, “Thank you, sir. I shall 
sleep happy with those words in my mind.” 

“ Good-night,” said the doctor. “You are 
quite comfortable, are you?” 

“ I am the most comfortable little boy in the 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 23 

world,” said Jeremiah sedately. “ This is a very 
good bed and I can go to sleep now that you 
have come home.” 

Even as he spoke the white lids drooped over 
the big black eyes, and in a few moments the 
young man standing over him saw that he was 
far away in the land of dreams. 

“ How would you like to live in an orphan 
asylum? ” asked Dr. Jeffrey of Jeremiah the next 
morning over the breakfast table. 

Jeremiah laid down the piece of buttered 
muffin that he was just about to put in his 
mouth. “ Is that a place where crowds of little 
boys and girls live that have lost their mothers 
and fathers ? ” 

“Yes, that is it.” 

“ I wouldn’t like it at all, thank you,” said 
Jeremiah. “ I would rather live with you.” 

Dr. Jeffrey had had breakfast served in his 
own room, and they were quite alone. At this 
last remark of Jeremiah’s, which was uttered 
with mingled boldness and longing, Dr. Jeffrey 
pushed back his chair from the table and laughed 
heartily. “You are an odd child ; what could I 
do with you ? ” 

“ I would be your little boy,” said Jeremiah, 
“and drive about with you. I could hold the 
reins while you make calls, and I could run 
errands for you.” 

“You have a mind of your own, haven’t 
you?” said Dr. Jeffrey. “You are not all 
‘sweetness and light.’ ” 


24 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


w My mother used to say that I was rather 
obstinate,” said Jeremiah ; “ but of course I don’t 
think I am.” 

Dr. Jeffrey laughed again, then he said, “ This 
hotel would not be a suitable place for you. 
You ought to have plenty of fresh air, and to 
attend a school every day so that you will be 
fitted to support yourself when you grow up.” 

“I could go to school from here,” said Jere- 
miah. 

“ Well, we will not decide upon anything just 
now,” said Dr. Jeffrey. “To live one day at a 
time is a very good plan. Finish your breakfast, 
then put on your overcoat and see how you like 
driving about with me.” 

Jeremiah gravely drank his coffee and rose 
from the table. He was very quiet as they left 
the hotel and drove out from the crowded streets 
of the town to a broad avenue in the suburbs. 

“This is our destination,” said Dr. Jeffrey, 
stopping before a fine stone house standing back 
from the street among snow-covered evergreens. 
“I have only to take some medicine to this 
patient and ask a few questions, then I shall 
come back to you.” 

Jeremiah did not reply to him. His eyes were 
shut, his face pale, and just as the doctor turned 
to him he went toppling over into the arms held 
out to receive him. “ Poor little chap,” said the 
young man, taking him into the house. “ This 
early morning drive is too much for him. He is 
even more delicate than he looks.” 

He laid him down on a long monks’ bench in 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 25 

the hall, and the servant who had opened the 
door hurried away for cold water. 

Miss Rivers’ maid put her head over the stair 
railing, then came running downstairs. Her 
mistress wished to know what was the matter. 

“It is nothing serious,” said Dr. Jeffrey. 
“ Tell Miss Rivers I shall come up presently.” 

In ten minutes he was standing beside the old 
lady’s chair. 

“ What do you mean by turning my house into 
a hospital ? ” she asked with a curious smile. 

“ It was quite unforeseen,” said Dr. Jeffrey. 
“ I haven’t much acquaintance with that frail 
little lad. He had a long coach journey yester- 
day, and I should have kept him quiet this morn- 
ing.” 

“Who is he?” asked Miss Rivers. 

“ A very curious child,” said Dr. Jeffrey. 
And he rapidly sketched Jeremiah’s history as 
far as he knew it. 

“ What are you going to do with him,” she 
said. 

“ I don’t know yet. I shall have to find a 
place for him somewhere. I daresay the best 
plan will be to send him back to his country 
home.” 

“ Why didn’t they keep him ? ” 

“ Oh, I fancy they are all poor people with 
large families of their own. I could arrange to 
board him among them.” 

“ Don’t leave him here,” said Miss Rivers un- 
graciously. 

“I have no thought of such a thing,” said 


26 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

Dr. Jeffrey, looking at his watch ; “but it will 
not disturb you, will it, to have him below on the 
bench for an hour ? Then I will come or send 
some one to take him away.” 

“ Very well,” said Miss Rivers, “ but don’t let 
it be longer.” 

Dr. Jeffrey had a pair of very beautiful and ex- 
pressive eyes. These eyes were suddenly turned 
on the selfish woman ; not in anger, but in such 
profound pity for her heartlessness that her own 
cold gray eyes averted themselves from his gaze, 
and went staring out of the window. 

She did not look at him when he left the 
room. Quite silently she sat and listened to his 
footsteps down the staircase and through the 
hall. He stopped beside the boy and she could 
hear a few murmured words. Then he went out 
and the front door closed behind him. 

She sat a little longer, wondering what this boy 
was like. Some vulgar, red-faced little creature 
probably. Her maid could have described him 
to her but she had not thought to ask her. 
There was no one stirring in the halls, the ser- 
vants were all downstairs. She would wheel her 
chair outside the door and look for herself. 

She put out her hands and guided herself care- 
fully over the threshold of the door and up to 
the oaken staircase railing. Then stretching 
out her long gaunt neck she stared down at the 
little lad lying on the bench below. 

“ O God, be merciful to me,” she ejaculated, 
dropping her head on the hard wood. “ Must I 
live that day over again ? ” 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 27 

She felt as if something sharp and cruel had 
pierced her heart — the callous heart that now so 
seldom felt a flutter of joy or tremor of fear. 

Dr. Jeffrey did not know, the servants did not 
know, no one in the town knew, the entire his- 
tory of a day in her life some thirty years before 
when her little nephew, her beloved adopted 
child, had been drowned. She could see him 
now lying on his side on the beach, his face 
white and still, his black hair drenched, the wet 
garments clinging to his misshapen back, for he 
too was deformed. 

She groaned as she thought of that sad time 
when the light of her life had gone out and of 
the terrible suffering it had caused her. No one 
had pitied her — she would not allow it. Every 
one had thought her proud and unloving toward 
the child for whom she would gladly have laid 
down her life. 

After a time she raised her head. She would 
not have her servants find her here, and she must 
look again into the hall, for she was interested 
in this child for the other child’s sake. 

He was still lying on his side and his hand- 
kerchief was still pressed to his eyes. She knew 
by his figure that his face must be pale and deli- 
cate. He was probably weeping because he had 
fainted. Poor friendless one. Just what the 
other boy would have done in his place. 

Miss Rivers bit her lips and pressing her hands 
nervously against the wheels of her chair she 
moved herself back into her parlor — not care- 
fully as she had come out, but heedlessly and 


28 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

bruising one hand against the door post as she 
entered. 

She could not sit still in the room. She 
kept moving herself about and at last almost 
despite herself her hand urged her chair in the 
direction of the hall. 

The boy must have heard the sound of her 
comings and her goings but he made no sign and 
lay there alone, his head on his arm, his face 
covered. 

After some time there was a ring at the door 
bell almost simultaneously with a ringing of 
Miss Rivers’ bell that brought the housemaid 
rushing upstairs. 

“ Who is below? ” asked the lady. 

“ Two men with a carriage, ma’am ; they have 
come for the sick boy.” 

“ Tell them to bring him up here,” said Miss 
Rivers. 

The girl withdrew and went tripping down 
the staircase. 

Miss Rivers had need of all her self-possession 
when a few minutes later a strange man stepped 
into the room with the little figure — alas, so 
strangely familiar — in his arms. Her expres- 
sion became sterner than usual ; she carefully 
avoided looking at the boy’s face and said 
sharply to the man carrying him : “ Put him 
down and tell Dr. Jeffrey that he isn’t fit to be 
moved all over the town to-day. I will keep him 
here.” 

“The doctor told us to keep him quiet, 
ma’am,” said the man hesitatingly. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 29 

u Well, can I not do it — does this look like a 
wild house?” asked the lady. “Who are you 
that you speak of quietness? ” 

“ I come from the St. Barnabas Hospital, 
ma’am ; I am a nurse there.” 

“ Put the boy down on that sofa,” said Miss 
Rivers, “ and go away.” 

The man did as he was told. 

The maid hesitated, not knowing whether her 
mistress wished her to go or stay. 

“ Finish your sewing,” said Miss Rivers with 
a wave of her hand ; “ I will ring when I want 
you.” 

She was now alone with the boy and she sud- 
denly became seized with a fit of trembling that 
made her turn her back squarely on him and 
wheel herself toward a window where she sat 
looking fixedly out at the snow-covered trees 
and the deep blue sky through eyes that were 
dimmed with tears. 

The other boy — the other boy, how many times 
he had lain on that sofa to rest his weary little 
back ; how plainly she could see him there start- 
ing up as she came in with the bright expectant 
look that she thought she should never see on 
any child’s face again. 

She must look at this boy. She set her teeth 
hard and slowly began to turn her head. 

Just as she made this resolution Jeremiah got 
tired of lying on the sofa and putting his feet 
noiselessly on the floor he walked toward the 
window where was the very peculiar old lady 
who was Dr. Jeffrey’s patient. 


30 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

She sat so strangely quiet that he was afraid 
that she too was ill and putting out a hand he 
touched her gently. 

Miss Rivers nearly jumped from her seat. 
Just so used the other boy to come and lay his 
hand on hers. 

“ Good gracious, child,” she exclaimed breath- 
ing violently and resting her head against the 
back of her chair, “ you nearly frightened me to 
death.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Jeremiah meekly. “ I 
thought perhaps the faintness was catching.” 

Miss Rivers half smiled, then she closed her 
eyes. Oh, the little patient face of long ago — 
how it was haunting her this morning. The 
pathetic, appealing expression that so often goes 
with deformity had been his. This boy had it 
too, but not so plainly she was thankful to see. 
She examined his features carefully, then she 
motioned him to go and sit down at a little dis- 
tance from her. 

No one had seen her wipe a tear from her eyes 
for years and she was determined that she should 
not be observed doing so now. 

Jeremiah picked up a magazine lying on the 
table and was quietly turning over the leaves 
when he caught sight of a sober gray cat enter- 
ing the room. He was half hidden by the cur- 
tain and the cat did not see him. She walked 
purringly up to her mistress and sprang on her 
lap. 

Jeremiah was very fond of animals and start- 
ing up he moved to a seat nearer Miss Rivers. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 3 1 

The cat caught sight of him and terribly 
alarmed at the appearance of a stranger, and a 
boy at that, in a room where no stranger had 
come for years she sprang wildly on Miss Rivers’ 
shoulder, sticking her claws in her dress and so 
frantically pulling at a kind of head dress the 
old lady wore that it was torn from its place and 
fell bodily to the floor. 

Miss Rivers made a half-angry exclamation. 
The cat mewed while Jeremiah ran to the back 
of the chair and politely picked up the bunch 
of lace and ribbons with the fringe of hair hang- 
ing to it. 

“There now, boy,” said Miss Rivers, “you 
have done a smart thing. I suppose you will go 
and tell every one that I wear a wig.” 

Jeremiah stared at the combination of hair and 
millinery in admiring surprise. “Is that a 
wig? ” he said. “ I thought wigs were ugly.” 

“ Give it to me,” said Miss Rivers. “ It doesn’t 
add to my appearance to show my bald head. 
What did you think wigs were like ? ” 

“ I have only seen one,” said Jeremiah. “ An 
old fellow in Riverfield lost his hair and he made 
himself something out of sheep skin and horse 
hair. It did not look like yours.” 

“Why didn’t he send away for one?” asked 
Miss Rivers. 

“ He was very poor. He kept geese for a liv- 
ing and they used to run away. I don’t suppose 
you have any people here as poor as he was.” 

“Haven’t we,” said Miss Rivers. “Just wait 
till you see our back streets.” 


32 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

“ Oh, I forgot/' and Jeremiah’s face flushed in 
a pained, ashamed way, “ I saw a place yesterday 
that was very bad. We have nothing in River- 
field like it.” 

“ Where was it ? ” asked Miss Rivers. 

u It was my aunt’s house,” said Jeremiah in a 
low voice. 

“ Oh, indeed ; tell me about it,” said Miss 
Rivers. 

Jeremiah described to her the miserable home 
that he had seen, and Miss Rivers said nothing, 
though she eyed him keenly while he was speak- 
ing. 

“ Now go and lie down again,” she said when 
his story was finished. 

“ I don’t feel weak now,” said Jeremiah. 

“ Never mind ; get on the sofa. When a per- 
son faints it shows weakness. I shall have an 
egg beaten up in a glass of milk for you pres- 
ently. Have you ever fainted before ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; often,” said Jeremiah. “ I don’t 
mind it ; it is just like going to sleep, only — 
only,” and his face clouded, “boys don’t faint, it 
is a girl’s trick.” 

“You will outgrow it, probably,” said Miss 
Rivers, “ if you will do as you are told,” and she 
stretched out one of her long lean fingers in the 
direction of the sofa. 

“Tell me about your home,” she said, “while 
you are resting. Was it a town or a village ? ” 

“They call it a settlement,” said Jeremiah. 
“ There are only a few houses there, and we all 
know each other, and no one is in a hurry, and 


FOR THE OTHER BOY*S SAKE 33 

the river is beautiful. It makes me think of the 
beautiful river of Zion. The houses are built 
beside it ; and there are two mills and a dam 
with a ladder for the salmon to go up, and we 
used to fish with rods and dip-nets ; a fairy is a 
good fly for a dull day.” 

“Is it ? ” said Miss Rivers ; “I shall remember 
that if we go fishing. I daresay Riverfield would 
be a good summer place.” 

“ It is good for the whole year,” said Jeremiah 
enthusiastically. “ It is the finest place in the 
world. I should like to go there to-day, or 
rather to-morrow,” he added politely. 

Miss Rivers said nothing, and Jeremiah occu- 
pied himself by glancing about the handsome, 
though somewhat somberly furnished room. 

“ Is this your house? ” he said at last. 

“Yes,” said Miss Rivers, “ it is.” 

“We have no house as large as this in River- 
field,” said Jeremiah. “ How many head of 
cattle have you ? ” 

“ I have neither cattle nor sheep,” said Miss 
Rivers dryly. “ We don’t measure our wealth in 
that way in the city. I own houses mostly.” 

“Do you?” said Jeremiah. “Then will you 
not give my aunt a good one ? ” 

Miss Rivers looked keenly at the boy. What 
a little confiding face it was — there was no cun- 
ning there. 

“We shall see,” she said shortly. “ Your aunt 
may be a fraud.” 

“ What is a fraud? ” asked Jeremiah. 

“ I am one,” said Miss Rivers unexpectedly, 
c 


34 for the other boy’s sake 

Jeremiah looked puzzled. 

“ A fraud is a cheat, a deception,” said Miss 
Rivers. “ If I am a fraud I am pretending to be 
something that I am not.” 

Jeremiah laughed in a merry, guileless fashion 
that stirred Miss Rivers’ curiosity. “ What is 
amusing you ? ” she said. 

Jeremiah did not want to tell her, but being 
pressed to do so he said shyly, u I guess you like 
to make people think you are cross when you 
really are not. You were not mad with me 
about the cat. I saw through you.” 

Oh, the sharp, quick insight of childhood ! 
Miss Rivers turned her head aside. Just so had 
the other boy understood her. No matter how 
peevish and forbidding she might be with other 
people, to her he had always come confidingly — 
on her sympathies he had flung himself and his 
boyish troubles. Strange that there should exist 
another lad like him. 

“ Don’t talk to me for a while ; I am tired,” 
she said. “ I think I will take a nap,” and 
wheeling herself away from the sofa, she dropped 
her head on the cushions of her chair-back. 

Jeremiah threw her a smile, and crossing his 
legs lay on his back staring up at the gilt stars 
on the ceiling. 

At seven o’clock that evening Miss Rivers sat 
alone enjoying, with a remarkably good appetite, 
a grand dinner that was set before her. 

“ Beware of dyspepsia,” said Dr. Jeffrey, sud- 
denly appearing in the doorway. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 35 

“ I shall have something worse than dyspepsia 
if you upset my house every day as you did to- 
day,” said Miss Rivers agreeably. “ Won’t you 
have some coffee ? ” 

“Thank you — where is the boy,” and Dr. 
Jeffrey seated himself opposite his patient. 

“In bed — you need not take him away to- 
night. I suppose you never thought to ask him 
last night if his feet were warm.” 

“No, I did not.” 

“ Men don’t know how to take care of children 
— even if they are doctors,” said Miss Rivers dis- 
dainfully. “ They need a woman’s care. This 
is a delicate lad.” 

“Yes,” said Dr. Jeffrey. “I am afraid he 
won’t live to grow up.” 

Miss Rivers did not raise her eyes, but her fin- 
gers that were picking walnuts began to tremble. 
“Is it cold to-night? ” she asked shortly. 

“ Yes, bitterly so. I fear the poor will suffer.” 

“ By the way,” said Miss Rivers, “this boy is 
worrying about a poor family called Jackson. 
Do you know who their landlord is ? ” 

“You are,” said Dr. Jeffrey. 

Miss Rivers did not look surprised. “My 
agent is a hard man,” she said. “ I shall write 
to him to house these people decently.” 

Dr. Jeffrey sat for some time talking to her 
of happenings in the town, then he arose to go. 
“ Shall I send for the boy in the morning? ” he 
asked. 

“ If you like,” said Miss Rivers indifferently. 

“ I will let you have that new book I spoke of 


36 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

at the same time,” said the young man cheer- 
fully. u Good-night,” and he held out his hand. 

“ Did the boy speak to you about his back? ” 
asked Miss Rivers. 

“ You mean about his deformity ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

u No, he did not ; I felt some delicacy about 
alluding to it so early in our acquaintance. Did 
he mention it to you ? ” 

“ Yes ; it worries him, young as he is. I think 
he cries about it at night. Could anything be 
done? ” 

Dr. Jeffrey shook his head. u I fear not. How- 
ever I will examine him. Does he suffer con- 
stant pain? ” 

“No, only at times.” 

“You seem to be on very good terms with 
him,” said Dr. Jeffrey, with a smile. “ What a 
misfortune that you cannot have him with you.” 

Miss Rivers, at this bold remark, gave the 
young man such an overpowering look from her 
cold eyes that he laughed outright at her and 
ran away. 

Usually the lonely old woman spent the even- 
ing in reading and went to bed punctually at 
eleven o’clock. This evening she did not open 
one of the books or papers lying on the table and 
at ten, a whole hour earlier than usual, she called 
her maid to wheel her to her room. 

“ First take me in to see if that boy is sleep- 
ing,” she said, and her maid guided her chair 
into a large and lofty chamber where little Jere- 
miah was almost lost in a huge canopied bed. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 37 

Miss Rivers slipped from the chair to the bed 
and drew a comfortable over the boy. Then she 
laid her hand on his forehead. 

Jeremiah seemed to be sleeping soundly, but 
at her touch he half opened his eyes, and nest- 
ling his face against her hand murmured, 
u Mother.” 

Miss Rivers’ first impulse was to snatch her 
hand away as quickly as if the boy’s cool cheek 
had burned her, but she conquered herself. The 
hand remained and she sat looking down at him 
with the smothered affection of years rising and 
softening and overcoming her. 

What was it this lad had said to her to-day 
when he showed her his mother’s photograph, 
“You favor her.” 

She, old, plain-featured, disagreeable, had been 
glorified by his liking for her into a resemblance 
to the sweet-faced woman whose picture he kept 
always next to his heart. Well, he should not 
suffer for it. For the other boy’s sake she would 
be good to him, and turning to her maid she 
said less harshly than usual, “Take me to my 
room.” 

When she was undressed and left alone for the 
night, she locked her door and limped painfully 
to a closet. There on the top shelf were some of 
the other boy’s playthings. She reached up, and 
taking down several laid them on a chair. 

“ He is a careful child ; he will not hurt 
them,” she murmured ; then with a curious smile 
on her face and a still more curious lightness of 
heart, she laid herself down to sleep. 


38 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


Dr. Jeffrey was a very much-amused and re- 
lieved young man. “ It is better than a joke,” 
he said, “ because there is a lot of good at the 
bottom of it ; but the old lady is not going to 
play any more of her tricks on me. I shall not 
send for him again.” 

It had gotten to be a standing arrangement 
that Dr. Jeffrey should send every day to get lit- 
tle Jeremiah and that Miss Rivers should put off 
the messenger with an excuse that the boy was 
either dressing, or playing, or sleeping, or walk- 
ing, or engaged in some important occupation 
that could not be left. 

If he did not send for him Miss Rivers re- 
proached him with trying to foist an orphan on 
her. 

“I know what I will do,” said the doctor. 
“I shall send her a bill for the man’s loss of time 
in running to and from her house. That will 
settle her, for she is fond of her money.” 

A bill accordingly Miss Rivers received and 
paid without a murmur, but never afterward did 
she open her mouth to the doctor on the subject 
of taking Jeremiah away. 

“ I have seen a good many queer people,” said 
Dr. Jeffrey one morning when he was on his way 
to her house, “but of all people she is the 
queerest.” 

Though it was still early in the morning Miss 
Rivers and Jeremiah were just coming back 
from a drive. Their carriage drove up to the 
door in front of the doctor’s modest buggy and 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 39 

the footman assisted the lady and the boy into 
the house where Dr. Jeffrey joined them. 

“ Now go to the library and look over your 
lessons,” said Miss Rivers ; u your tutor will soon 
be here.” 

The boy hung up his cap and the cloak that 
partly concealed his crooked back and skipped 
down the hall. 

He was handsomely dressed now and the bell 
boy, if he had seen him, would have had no 
reason to mischievously inquire the name of his 
tailor. 

“ How do you think he looks?” asked Miss 
Rivers. 

“ Finely ; I am glad to see some color in his 
cheeks. Your incessant care is working wonders 
in him. He may be a reasonably strong man 
yet.” 

Miss Rivers looked pleased. Her own appear- 
ance was very much changed, though her phy- 
sician did not dare tell her so. Ever since the 
day she had resolved to act a mother’s part 
toward the homeless lad, the joy of self-sacrifice 
had begun to enter her heart and had so improved 
her that she seemed like another person. 

She would always be odd. She could not help 
that, but she was no longer disagreeable. For 
one thing she kept strictly to herself her resolve 
to protect Jeremiah as long as she lived and to 
provide for him after her death, and only Dr. Jef- 
frey suspected her of more than a passing fancy 
for the child. 

She stood looking after him this morning with 


40 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

a smile on her face. Then she said thoughtfully 
to Dr. Jeffrey, “ I wanted to be rid of him. I 
took him out early this morning so that he 
would not know of the trouble in the house.” 

“ What trouble ? ” asked Dr. Jeffrey. 

“ Did you not see in last evening’s paper that 
I had had fifty dollars stolen from me ? ” asked 
Miss Rivers. 

“ No, indeed ; I am surprised to hear it. How 
did it happen ? ” 

“ Let us go into the drawing room, Jeremiah 
might hear us here.” 

Dr. Jeffrey gave her his arm and she limped 
across the hall to a spacious and luxuriously 
furnished room. 

“ A young Irish girl,” said Miss Rivers seating 
herself in a plush chair, “ who was acting as 
assistant to my cook saw some money on a table 
in my bedroom as she happened to be passing 
the door and stole it. I discovered the theft al- 
most immediately and suspecting that she had 
taken the money had her taxed with it. She 
made no attempt at denial and I had her ar- 
rested. She was taken to the police station 
while we were out.” 

“ How very sad,” said Dr. Jeffrey. “ It would 
give the little boy a shock if he heard it.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Rivers, “he is so very sym- 
pathetic. I never knew but one other child like 
him,” and she sighed. 

“ Would you like me to take him away for a 
day or two?” asked Dr. Jeffrey. 

“No, thank you. I have given strict orders 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 4 1 

not to have the affair mentioned in the house, 
and the papers have been destroyed. The girl 
will be tried this morning while he is at his 
lessons, so he won’t know that I have gone to the 
courthouse.” 

Miss Rivers had hardly finished speaking when 
Jeremiah came hurrying into the room. “ Aunt 
Sarah,” he said curiously, “ where is Katie this 
morning ? My rabbits were not fed last night ; 
you know she always does it.” 

“ Katie has gone away,” said Miss Rivers. 

“ Why, she liked it here,” said Jeremiah with 
wide-opened eyes. “ What made her go away ? ” 

“ I had rather not tell you,” said Miss Rivers. 

Jeremiah drew close to his guardian. “ She is 
not dead, is she ? ” he asked, every vestige of color 
leaving his face. 

“ No, no,” said Miss Rivers, “she is alive and 
well, but she is a bad girl. You will never see 
her again. Do go to your studies ; Mr. Smith 
will be here in five minutes.” 

“ Now, Aunt Sarah,” said the boy decidedly, 
“ I don’t believe that. Katie is not a bad girl. 
Please tell me what has become of her ; ” and 
Jeremiah who was a very determined little lad, 
and not above teasing when he wanted his own 
way, laid a coaxing hand on Miss Rivers’ arm. 

Miss Rivers gazed helplessly at her physician. 
Why don’t you tell him ? the young man’s glance 
said plainly. 

“I will,” said Miss Rivers aloud, then she 
turned to the lad. “Katie stole some money 
from me and I sent her to jail.” 


42 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

“Katie stole money?” said the boy slowly. 
“It is impossible.” 

“ It is quite possible,” said Miss Rivers dryly. 
“ She says she did it.” 

Jeremiah looked dazed. “Was she — was she 
crazy ? ” 

“No, she was homesick. She had just got a 
letter from Ireland saying that her mother was 
ill, and she took the money to pay her passage 
home.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Jeremiah. “She 
has a good mother, and she has often told me 
about the little house and the peat fire and the 
children and the pigs — Katie loves animals. 
Will her mother die, do you think?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Miss Rivers indifferently, 
“ I have not thought about it.” 

“ And Katie took the money to get home to 
her,” said Jeremiah thoughtfully ; “ was that the 
only thing you sent her to jail for, Aunt Sarah?” 

“ The only thing — isn’t that enough ? ” 

“ Of course it is wicked to steal,” and Jeremiah 
shuddered ; “ but only think, Aunt Sarah — sup- 
pose you were ill in Ireland, and I was here ; I 
am afraid — I am afraid,” and the little boy 
looked lovingly in her face, “ that if I saw a lot 
of money lying about and did not pray hard to 
God to keep me from taking it that I should 
snatch it,” and Jeremiah quite overcome by the 
harrowing thought of his good friend on a sick 
bed across the water and himself in a prison cell, 
laid his head on Miss Rivers’ shoulder to hide 
the sudden emotion that overpowered him. 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 43 

Miss Rivers’ face softened. To imagine Jere- 
miah in Katie’s place gave the affair a different 
aspect. “ I am sorry too,” she said ; “ but it is 
wicked to steal. 

“ And it is wicked to do lots of other things,” 
said Jeremiah. “ My mother used to say, Aunt 
Sarah, that some things we want to do and some 
we don’t want to do, and — and — and — ” and 
Jeremiah, too much upset by the communication 
just made to him to reason, broke down, and 
clasping his hands behind his back walked away 
from Miss Rivers to the hearth rug. 

“ He has a vivid imagination,” said Miss 
Rivers to the doctor in a low voice. “ He fan- 
cies that girl with her face against prison bars, 
whereas, I dare say, she does not feel so badly as 
he does.” 

“ Take me to see her, Aunt Sarah, won’t you?” 
said Jeremiah suddenly turning around. “ She 
would tell me the truth, and if she is really sorry 
won’t you let her go ? It must be dreadful to 
be locked up — dreadful.” 

Miss Rivers looked at him for some minutes 
in silence, then she said, “ No, I cannot take you 
to that court-room. I do not believe in sensa- 
tional spectacles for children. You would not 
sleep for a week ; but I will go and see what I 
can do for Katie. I wish now that I had not 
had her arrested. Good-bye, it is time to leave,” 
and she stooped down to kiss him. 

She had risen from her chair, but Jeremiah 
threw his arms so enthusiastically about her neck 
that she sank back again. 


44 FOR the other boy’s sake 

“ Dear Aunt Sarah,” he said, smothering her 
with kisses. 

Miss Rivers pushed him away, and glanced 
half apologetically at the doctor. He affected to 
take no notice of Jeremiah’s demonstrative 
caresses, and said briefly, “ May I accompany 
you ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Miss Rivers, and they drove 
from the house together. 

It was certainly a touching scene. There was 
a crowded court-room, a grave judge, and a young 
girl, not yet seventeen, sitting alone in the dock 
— a stranger in a strange land, and a prisoner. 

Her head hung on her breast. Her frank face, 
down which the tears were dropping slowly, was 
half hidden. One could hardly believe in seeing 
how modest and neat she was, that she could 
have committed the theft charged against her. 

Miss Rivers’ face was worried and perplexed. 
She was obliged to appear as the prosecutrix, 
and she was heartily sorry now that she had had 
the girl arrested. 

“ I am glad that you came with me,” she 
whispered to Dr. Jeffrey. “This is a trying 
ordeal for a woman. I am glad that I am not in 
the poor girl’s place,” and she shuddered. 

“ You do not feel ill, do you? ” asked Dr. Jef- 
frey anxiously. 

“No, no,” said the old lady, then she rose and 
proceeded to give her testimony in a firm voice. 

Katie stole a grateful glance at her from under 
wet eyelashes when Miss Rivers said : “I have 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 


45 


had this girl in my employ for ten weeks. Until 
the theft of the fifty dollars she conducted her- 
self in a thoroughly honest manner.” 

When it came to the account of the taking of 
the money Katie lost her composure, and rock- 
ing herself to and fro on her chair wept bitterly. 
She could hardly recover herself when she was 
called to the stand, and in almost unintelligible 
accents gave a sketch of a happy far-away home 
where unfortunately such poverty existed that 
she had been forced to come to another country 
to earn her living. 

When she came to the part of her story where 
her mother was concerned she stretched out both 
hands toward the judge who was listening 
gravely to her. 

“ The merciful God above knows that I never 
took a penny before, but when I heard that my 

dear old mother at home was like to die ” 

she could not proceed and fell back on her seat 
with a stifled cry. 

So genuine was her grief that every one pres- 
ent was affected. Some of the old frequenters 
of the court — men with hardened faces — were 
seen stealthily wiping tears from their eyes, and 
Dr. Jeffrey thought he heard a sob from his com- 
panion, though he was careful not to look at her. 

The judge was evidently convinced of the sin- 
cerity of the girl’s repentance. “ I know that you 
must be sorry for what you have done,” he said, 
turning toward her ; “ sentence will be suspended 
in your case. You may go.” 

There was a rustle of relief all through the 


46 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

court-room. “If there are any humanitarians 
present,” went on the judge looking about him, 
“ here is a case for them. I hope that some one 
may be found to take charge of this young girl, 
and see that she does not wander again from the 
paths of honesty.” 

“ For Jeremiah’s sake I will do it,” whispered 
Miss Rivers to herself, and when she saw that 
there was a little stir about her where an enthusi- 
astic young man had started a subscription list 
among the lawyers to pay the girl’s passage to 
Ireland, she whispered a few words to Dr. Jeffrey. 

He wrote two lines on a piece of paper and 
handed it to the young lawyer, who looked up 
at him and smiled and nodded. 

A few minutes later Miss Rivers, Dr. Jeffrey, 
and Katie left the courthouse together. 

Jeremiah had been excused from his lessons 
and stood with his face pressed against the win- 
dow pane. When he saw the carriage returning 
with Katie in it he laughed aloud in his delight 
and ran down the front steps to greet her. 

“ Oh, Katie, I am so glad that you have come 
back ! Good, kind Katie, I have missed you.” 

“May all the saints be good to your little 
honor,” said the girl, who looked weak and ex- 
hausted. “ My heart has just been breaking to 
see you.” 

“ Let Katie go to her room,” said Miss Rivers, 
“she is tired.” 

“ She will stay now, and not go away, won’t 
she, auntie? ” asked Jeremiah excitedly. 

“No,” said Miss Rivers ; “I think she had 


FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 47 

better go to Ireland at once, and see this mother 
to whom she is so much attached. Then if she 
wishes to come back she may — and possibly her 
family may want to come with her. Will you 
see about engaging a passage for her ? ” and Miss 
Rivers turned to Dr. Jeffrey. 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” said the young 
man. “ I will go at once,” and he hurried from 
the room. 

“Jeremiah,” said Miss Rivers, drawing the 
little boy to her, “ I have done this for you.” 

He pressed her hand affectionately and looked 
up into her face. 

“ I have been a hard old woman, I fear I am 
one now,” said Miss Rivers ; “ but, as you sing in 
your old-fashioned hymn, 

While the lamp holds out to burn 
The vilest sinner may return. 


And another thing I want to tell you,” she went 
on, laying her hand on the lad’s head, “when 
you first came here I loved you for another boy’s 
sake, now I love you for your own.” 

“ And I love you,” said Jeremiah enthusiastic- 
ally. “ I don’t know why, but I just love you — 
and I feel as if I couldn’t keep still,” he went on, 
fidgeting about on his toes. “ I wish I had the 
strength to dance as David did. Auntie, let’s do 
something, let’s do the best thing we can. Sup- 
pose we say the Lord’s Prayer together.” 

“Very well,” said Miss Rivers gravely, and 
drawing the little boy to her knee, they repeated 


48 FOR THE OTHER BOY’S SAKE 

reverently together, “ Our Father which art in 
heaven.” 

Katie went to Ireland, and after a time re- 
turned to America, bringing, as Miss Rivers had 
prophesied, her whole family along with her — 
among them her beloved mother, who had be- 
come quite well and strong again. 

Katie did not go back to Miss Rivers, but 
went with her family to live on one of the 
Riverfield farms that her kind patron bought for 
them. 

“ I never thought I should again be led by a 
little child,” said Miss Rivers one day; “but I 
am. Jeremiah, I hope that the Ford will spare 
me for some years yet to you.” 

Jeremiah was reading the Bible to her at the 
time, and looking up brightly he said : “I hope 
so too, auntie.” 


















1 



















1 y, 
V 













































. * 

- 

































The circus dog, as sure as I live. 





II 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


EAR the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, is 
a beautiful place called Prince’s Eodge ; 
so named because the father of Queen 
Victoria of England once had a country 
house there. The house is in ruins now 
and the garden has grown wild, but the old road 
still winds up from the city past the quiet spot 
and leads on to the town of Bedford, situated at 
the head of the Basin — the sheet of water on the 
shores of which the house was built. 

Walking along this road one hot day a few 
summers ago was a waggish-looking dog of the 
breed known as bull terrier. He was going 
slowly and he acted as if he was very tired; 
Presently with a heavy sigh he dropped down on 
a patch of grass under some spreading trees. 

A red cow, munching clover on the opposite 
side of the road, lifted her head and looked fix- 
edly at him. 

“ How do you do, madame ? ” he said. 

The cow said nothing but continued to stare 
at him. 

“ In my country we speak when we are spoken 
to,” said the dog wearily yet mischievously. 

D 49 



50 POOR JERSEY CITY 

The cow switched her tail and lowered her 
head still more. 

“ A cow that shakes her tail when there aren’t 
any flies on her and a horse that shakes his 
when you touch him with the whip, are two 
things that I haven’t much use for,” said the dog 
with a curl of his lip. “ But don’t distress your- 
self, madame, I have no intention of running at 
you. Iyie down and have a talk with me ; I am 
dying to hear the sound of my own voice.” 

The red cow scanned him all over for the 
space of a few minutes, then she doubled her legs 
under her and began to chew her cud. 

“You have beautiful eyes, madame,” said the 
dog politely. “ I wish I had such eyes, they 
would have made my fortune.” 

“ Who are yon? ” asked the cow. 

The dog threw back his head and laughed. 
“You Nova Scotian animals beat everything — so 
English, you know — you never enter into con- 
versation with strangers till you learn their 
whole pedigree. What would you suppose had 
been my business, madame, to look at me ? ” 

“You are not a tramp dog,” said the cow, 
“ because you have on a silver collar.” 

“Well put, madame ; but I may cheat you yet 
in spite of that silver collar. Don’t put too 
much faith in a bit of metal.” 

“ Have you run away from home ? ” inquired 
the cow with some curiosity. 

“ I have never had a home, madame.” 

The cow forgot to chew her cud and let her 
lower jaw hang down as she stared at him. 


POOR JERSEY CITY 5 1 

“Shut your mouth, madame, you don’t look 
pretty with it open,” said the dog slyly. 

“You have not told me what your business 
is,” replied the cow in some vexation. 

Without speaking the weary dog rose from the 
grass and proceeded to stand on his head, dance 
on his hind legs, turn somersaults, and perform a 
number of other curious tricks. 

Half in fear and half in astonishment the cow 
stumbled to her legs and watched him from be- 
hind the tree. 

“ Frightened, madame ? ” said the dog throwing 
himself again on the grass and bursting into 
laughter. “ Why you could kill me with one of 
those horns of yours. I suppose you have never 
seen an exhibition of this kind before. I’ll give 
you lots of them, for love too — no tickets re- 
quired — if you’ll do me the trifling favor of tell- 
ing me of a quiet place where I can spend a few 
days.” 

The cow would not come out from behind the 
tree. “ Who are you ? ” she said shortly. 

“ Oh, I’m a clown dog in a show,” said the 
terrier impatiently. “ Bankston & Sons’ Great 
Traveling Exhibition of Trained Animals — have 
you never heard of them ? They’re in Halifax 
now and I’ve cut them.” 

“ Cut them,” repeated the cow slowly. 

“ Yes ; got tired of them, bored to death — run 
away, skedaddled.” 

“ And are you not going back ? ” 

“No, madame, I am not.” 

“ What is to become of you ? ” 


52 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


“I don’t know and don’t care as long as I 
never see that old show again.” 

“ I have never met any animals like you,” said 
the cow nervously ; “I think I will go home.” 

The dog got up and made her a low bow. 
“ Thank you, madame ; my originality has always 
been my drawing card, and your suspicions do 
you credit. You are exactly like all the other 
cows that I have met. Permit me to say that the 
slightest taint of Bohemianism would spoil you.” 

“ What is Bohemianism ? ” asked the cow with 
some curiosity. 

The dog smiled. u Bohemianism — what is it ? 
I don’t know. Taking no thought for the 
morrow will perhaps best express it to you.” 

“ I don’t like the sound of it,” said the cow. 

“ I dare say not, madame. You probably like 
to look ahead and think of your comfortable 
stall and good food and pleasant home, don’t 
you ? ” 

“Yes,” said the cow. 

“Yon would not like to live on the road as I 
am doing, not knowing what minute you may be 
pounced upon and run back to town and ” 

“Well,” said the cow, “what were you going 
to say ? ” 

“ I was about to tell you what would happen 
to me if I am caught.” 

“ What would happen ? ” 

“ Did you ever go to a circus, madame? ” 

“No.” 

“ Or to any kind of a performance where ani- 
mals were made to do tricks ? ” 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


53 


“ I have seen animals in cages going by on the 
trains.” 

“ And they looked happy, didn’t they ? ” 

The cow shuddered. “ Oh no, no ; there was 
a dreadful look in their eyes.” 

“ But you should see them on the stage,” said 
the dog ironically. u A goat rolling a barrel is 
a charming sight, and a pig wheeling a barrow 
is another. The people scream with delight at 
dancing monkeys and leaping dogs. I guess if 
they knew ” 

“ Knew what ? ” 

“ Knew everything,” exclaimed the dog bit- 
terly, as he paced back and forth on a narrow 
strip of grass. u The public see the sugar — an 
animal gets through a pretty trick and he runs 
to his trainer for a lump. They don’t notice the 
long whip in the background. I tell you I have 
felt that whip many a time, and I am accounted 
a smart dog.”. 

“ I hate to be run along the road, or have boys 
throw stones at me,” said the cow mildly. “ It 
makes me feel bad and poisons my milk.” 

u I never heard of a cow doing tricks,” said 
the dog, stopping in his walk — “ by- the- way, 
what’s your name ? ” 

“ Mooley.” 

u Mooley, is it ? And mine is “ Jersey City.” 
Jersey City, the clown dog in Bankston & Sons’ 
Big Show, and in just about one hour you’ll 
see Bankston’s trainer on his bicycle spinning 
around the curve in this road looking for me.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” asked the cow. 


54 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


“Well, you see I ran away this morning. 
There aren’t many ways to leave the city down 
yonder. Old Jimson will know that I have too 
much sense to jump into the Atlantic Ocean. I 
wouldn’t be likely to cross the harbor in a ferry 
boat. He’ll guess that I’ve taken this road along 
which we came in the train, so that I can make 
for Boston.” 

“ Do you belong to Boston ? ” 

“No, I don’t belong anywhere. I wasn’t 
stolen from a lovely home like the dogs in the 
story books. I was born and brought up in the 
show ; but I’m tired and sick of it now, and my 
bones ache, and I’d rather die than go back. 
Good-bye, I’ll just crawl off here in the woods 
till I feel like looking for something to eat. 
You’ll not say anything about having seen me ? ” 

“ No, I will not,” said the cow slowly. “ I’m 
sorry for you, and I’ll do what I can to help you. 
If you will follow me, I’ll show you an old fox 
hole where you can hide till dark. Then if you 
will come up to my stable I’ll put you in the 
way of getting something to eat.” 

“ Thank you,” said the dog gruffly. Then he 
muttered under his breath, “ I wasn’t such a fool 
after all to trust the old softie. She’ll not give 
me away,” and he walked painfully after her up 
a green and shady path leading to a thick wood. 

“ I never felt such a good bed in my life,” 
murmured Jersey City rapturously. 

It was one week later and in the middle of a 
hot July day. He lay stretched out on a patch 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


55 


of thick fern moss. Above him on a bank grew 
lovely purple violets and the trailing green lin- 
nsea studded with pink bells. The air was full of 
the delicate perfume of the flowers, and the sun- 
light filtering through the treetops lay in waver- 
ing patches on the moss, the flowers, and Jersey 
City’s dark body. 

u You look like a happy dog,” said the cow, 
who had just come walking up a path and stood 
knee deep in ferns. 

“ I am happy, thanks to you, Mooley,” said 
Jersey City. “ I never had such a good time in 
my life. Oh, this is delicious,” and he buried 
his muzzle in the moss. 

The cow surveyed him in placid satisfaction. 
“ Why do you not stay here instead of going to 
Boston, as you plan to do ? ” 

“ Well, you see, Mooley, I am a marked char- 
acter here. As soon as I show myself I’ll be 
spotted. You’ve lots of English bull terriers 
about here, but not any like me. I’m what is 
called a Boston terrier, and I’d better get back 
to the place where I can mingle with a number 
of other dogs resembling myself.” 

u The search is over now,” said Mooley kindly. 
“ A milkman’s cow who was driven out from the 
city yesterday, told me that Bankston & Sons’ 
Big Show had gone away. I don’t think that 
you are in any danger.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Jersey City thoughtfully, 
“and I don’t know how to leave this lovely 
place. Oh, Mooley, what a change for a weary 
dog from the heat and noise and dust of theatres 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


56 

and halls and railway trains. I should like to 
stay here forever.” 

“ Do you not get lonely? ” asked Mooley. 

Jersey hesitated an instant. “You have been 
very good to me, Mooley, and I hope you won’t 
think me ungrateful if I say I could stay in this 
wood forever if I only had one thing.” 

“ What is that ? ” inquired the cow. 

“ Some human being to be with me.” 

“ I understand that,” said Mooley. 

“You see,” went on the dog, “ we four-legged 
animals were made to serve the two-legged ones, 
and we can’t be happy without them. I am 
ashamed to say that tears come in my eyes when 
I think of cross old Jimson, and the Bankstons, 
who weren’t much better. It is such a bitter 
feeling not to be with the people who have had 
me since I was a little puppy, that sometimes I 
feel as if I must run back to them.” 

“ Don’t you do it,” said the cow hastily. 

“ No, I won’t; I just think what a whipping I 
should get, and that stops my paws when I want 
to run.” 

“You have never told me what your life was 
like,” said Mooley, lying down near him and 
drawing some of the ferns into her mouth. 

“In season time — that is when we were travel- 
ing — it was the train nearly all day, and per- 
formances nearly every night. You see it is an 
enormous expense to take car loads of animals 
from one city to another, and it must be done as 
quickly as possible. How my legs used to pain 
me from standing all day, for the dog car was 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


57 


usually so crowded that we could not lie down. 
Then as soon as we arrived in a town we were 
herded together like sheep, and the trainer drove 
us to the place where we were to give our per- 
formance. We waited our turns to go on the 
stage. I always wore a Toby collar made of 
deep lace, and my role was to make people laugh.” 

“To make them laugh,” said the cow. “I 
don’t understand.” 

“ I was like the clown in a circus. Whenever 
an animal did a smart trick I had to follow him 
and turn a somersault, or fail in some way in 
trying to do it, though I knew well how it should 
be done. Then I faced the audience and laughed 
like this,” and Jersey City, turning back his lips, 
grinned dismally at the cow. 

“I don’t see anything funny in that,” said 
Mooley. 

“ The people used to,” said Jersey City dryly. 
“ They would go off in roars of laughter ; and 
often I would listen to them with a sore heart. 
I’m very fond of human beings, but I don’t alto- 
gether understand them. They cry about things 
that you’d think they’d laugh about, and they 
laugh about things that you’d think they would 
cry about. Now I never used to see anything 
in our cage trick but a cruel trap.” 

“ What is a cage trick ? ” asked Mooley. 

“ There’s a big revolving thing in the middle 
of the stage, and dogs climb up on it and hang 
by their paws — then it is whirled round. I have 
seen little dogs clinging to the top with a look 
of mortal terror on their faces, for they knew if 


58 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


they were to fall they would break their legs — - 
and yet the people laughed. Only occasionally 
a little child would cry.” 

“ I wonder how the men and women would 
feel if they were hanging there?” said Mooley 
half angrily. 

“ Yes, I wonder ; if any one asked me to go 
to see men and women and children running 
about on their hands and feet, I’d say ‘ What a 
silly performance ; they weren’t made to go in 
that way,’ and yet they flock to see us going on 
two legs, which is just as unnatural.” 

“ Perhaps they don’t think,” said Mooley. 

“Perhaps so,” said Jersey City. “There is 
one thing that they do think of, and that is hav- 
ing a good time and making money. That’s 
what most human beings live for, Mooley.” 

“ My mistress doesn’t,” said Mooley. 

“ By the way, who is your mistress ? ” asked 
the dog. 

“ A poor old widow who lives here. She is 
such a good woman and she takes fine care of 
me. I wish you would come and live with her.” 

“ I wish I could,” said Jersey City wistfully. 
“ Do you think she would take me in? ” 

“ She is kind to everything that is in trouble,” 
said Mooley. “ I know that she would let you 
lie by the fire when the cold weather comes.” 

“This is a very retired place,” said Jersey 
City ; “ that is, there aren’t many people about.” 

“ There are only two houses near here besides 
the Widow May’s,” said the cow ; “ then three 
miles away is the village,” 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


59 


“ That will just suit me for a while,” said Jer- 
sey City. “ I can’t bear to leave this lovely 
place ; and I don’t believe that these families 
have heard that there is a reward offered for me.” 

Mooley chuckled quietly. 

“ What are you laughing at ? ” the dog asked. 

“ Let me ask you a question in my turn,” said 
the cow ; “ why did you trust me with your story 
that day on the road ? ” 

Jersey City hesitated for a short time. 

“ Come, now, tell the truth,” said the cow. 

“ Well, Mooley, I thought you looked honest.” 

“ And stupid,” added the cow. “ I know you 
did ; but you clever traveled animals must re- 
member that the stay-at-home ones aren’t always 
so stupid as they seem. I did you a good turn 
that day ; for as soon as I brought you to this 
wood I returned to the village. I knew that the 
man looking for you would stop there.” 

“ And did he ? ” asked Jersey City breathlessly. 

“Yes, he asked at the post office about you. 
Nobody paid much attention to him ; then he 
tacked a piece of paper on a tree and jumped on 
his bicycle and rode away.” 

“ That was Jimson,” said Jersey City bitterly. 

“What do you think I did to the paper?” 
asked Mooley. 

“ I don’t know — what did you ? ” 

“Ate it,” said the cow, her great brown eyes 
full of merriment ; “ tore it in strips from the 
tree and chewed it finer than my finest cud.” 

“ Mooley,” exclaimed Jersey City in delight, 
“ you ought to have been a dog.” 


6o 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


“ Thank you, my friend, I prefer to remain an 
animal that cannot be taught tricks. But you 
must hear the rest of my tale. After I tore down 
the paper I had to go home, lest the widow 
should think I had wandered away ; but I met 
my brother, who is an ox and lives farther up 
the Basin road, and I told him that if he saw 
any of those bits of paper on trees he was to 
tear them off. He will pass the word to the 
other oxen who are in the woods, and I think 
you need have no fear of remaining here.” 

Jersey City sprang up and affectionately 
touched his nose to the cow’s head. “You good 
old Mooley, I shall keep an eye on you as you go 
to and from your pasture, and if any boys chase 
you, I will bite their heels.” 

Jersey City took the advice of his friend the 
cow, and one day went to lie under the apple 
trees in the Widow May’s orchard. She saw 
him there and spoke kindly to him, and the next 
day he took up a position under the window. 

She noticed that he was very thin — for not 
being used to provide for himself, he had con- 
siderable difficulty in finding enough to eat — 
and preparing a plate of bread and milk she put 
it on the doorstep. 

This he ate with so much gratitude and with 
such a pleading look in his dark eyes, that the 
widow invited him into her house, and there by 
the time autumn came he was snugly and con- 
tentedly domiciled. 

One day when the first snowflakes of the sea- 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


6l 


son were flying through the air, Jersey City 
sprang up on a chair by the window and looked 
out. 

“ I wonder whether Mooley is snug and warm,” 
he said to himself. Then he ran out to the 
Widow May’s small stable. 

Yes, Mooley was comfortable for the night, 
and lay on her bed of straw with a sleepy look 
in her eyes. 

“ Where is our mistress, Jersey City ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Gone to the village to buy meal and mo- 
lasses. She has very little money left,” said 
Jersey City soberly, “and human beings are 
helpless without that.” 

Mooley looked uneasily at him. “ I hope that 
she will not have to sell me. If she does, I shall 
be terribly unhappy and my milk will be spoiled. 
I wish that her son would send her some more 
money.” 

“ Her son is a sailor, you told me, didn’t 
you?” said Jersey City. 

“ Yes ; a fine young man. He goes to the 
West Indies. J hope that his ship is not lost.” 

“ I try to eat as little as I can,” said Jersey 
City, “ but this is such a wholesome place that I 
am hungry all the time.” 

“You have got quite fat and sleek since you 
came here,” said Mooley, looking at him with 
satisfaction. “You are the handsomest dog that 
I ever saw.” 

“ Thank you for the compliment,” said Jersey 
City laughing ; “ you remember I told you the 


62 POOR JERSEY CITY 

first time we ever met that you had beautiful 
eyes.” 

u You were rather saucy to me that day,” said 
Mooley smiling, “but you were tired and un- 
happy. You never feel in that way now, do 
you? ” 

u Never, except when I am thinking of other 
dogs.” 

“ What dogs ? ” 

“ Why, Bankston’s dogs, the ones that were 
brought up with me. When I am lying by the 
fire so warm and comfortable they come into my 
mind, but I try to put them right out, for it 
seems as if I would go crazy thinking of their 
doing those dreadful tricks over and over again 
and being cold at night and half fed.” 

u Run away to meet the widow,” said Mooley, 
“it is time for her to come and it is getting 
dark.” 

Jersey hurried from the stable and down the 
frozen road. Soon he espied a little bent figure 
in a black dress, and jumping and springing 
with delight about her and carrying a fold of 
her dress in his mouth, he escorted her to the 
house door. 

Half an hour later the Widow May sat down 
to her scanty tea of bread and molasses. Jersey 
City lay on a small mat before a wood fire in the 
kitchen stove and gazed lovingly at her. 

Presently there was a knock at the door. Jer- 
sey City got up and stood before the widow till 
he saw one of the neighbors entering, then he 
slunk behind the chairs in the small bedroom. 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


63 

“Good evening, Mrs. May,’’ said a young 
man in a cheery voice, “ I’ve just stepped in to 
see how you are — what’s that, a cat? ” 

“ No, a dog,” said Mrs. May, “ a poor stray thing 
that came to me in the summer. I think he 
must have been stolen from some nice family, for 
he had on an expensive collar.” 

“You call him Rover, do you,” said the young 
man absently. 

“ Yes — come here, good dog,” and she rose 
and went to the door. “ I should like you to 
see him. He is such a handsome dog, but he is 
shy. He always hides when any one comes, 
and I can never get him to go to the village with 
me.” 

“ Does he do any tricks ? ” asked the young 
man, with a far-a-way look in his eyes, for he 
was not thinking of the dog at all, but of a cer- 
tain newspaper in his pocket. 

“ No, he is the most stupid dog I ever saw, 
but he is very loving and I shall never turn him 
away.” 

“ How long is it since you have heard from 
your son? ” asked the young man suddenly. 

“Three months,” said the widow, turning her 
quiet gray eyes toward him. 

“ Does he usually go so long without writing,” 
asked the young man. 

“ Yes, sometimes — not often. Why, have you 
heard anything about him ? ” 

“It is a dangerous calling to follow the sea,” 
stammered her visitor, “and there are a good 
many gales in the fall.” 


6 4 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


“You know something,” said the widow, “ tell 


The young man looked hesitatingly round the 
kitchen. “It mayn’t be true, Mrs. May, but 

father said I’d best prepare you ” and he 

pulled the newspaper from his pocket. 

“ Read it to me,” said the widow, “ I can’t 
see,” and she covered her face with one hand, 
while the young man hurriedly read a paragraph 
which reported a vessel called the “ Swallow ” to 
have been lost with all her crew. 

“ But it may be only a rumor,” he said com- 
fortingly. “ Don’t give up hope, Mrs. May.” 

“No, I won’t,” she said ; “ the Lord knows 
what is best. If he has taken my son from me, 
I know that I shall soon go to join him.” 

The young man was misled by her calmness. 
With an air of great relief he rose. “ I am glad 
to see that you don’t take it too hard, Mrs. May. 
I am going to town, and I’ll make inquiries. 
Mother and Lucy will be over to see you to-mor- 
row. Good-night,” and after warmly shaking 
her hand he ’left her. 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jer- 
sey City left his hiding-place and ran to look 
anxiously in his mistress’ face. He was fright- 
ened by what he saw. Better than the young 
man he could read her expression, and he knew 
that her heart was breaking. Slowly she went 
into her little room and lay down on the bed. 
Hour after hour passed and she did not move. 
Jersey City sat uneasily watching her. 

She had not cleared away the tea dishes and 


POOR JERSEY CITY 65 

she had forgotten to put out the lamp. It was 
not like her to waste anything. 

After a time he sprang up on the bed. Her 
face and hands were quite cold, and when he 
licked them to make them warm she moaned 
feebly. Jersey City lay down close beside her, 
so that she would get some warmth from his 
sleek body. 

He did not close his eyes that night, and by 
the time the morning came he was nearly frantic. 
The gray streaks of dawn stealing in at the win- 
dow showed him that his dear mistress was in- 
sensible. In vain he tried to rouse her. 

u She will die if I do not bring some one to 
her,” he said. “I will go and speak to Mooley.” 

He could easily unfasten the latch of the back 
door by pressing his paw upon it, and he hur- 
ried out to the stable. 

“ Mooley,” he cried, “ the widow is very ill, 
what shall we do ? ” 

Mooley stumbled to her feet and looked at him 
uncertainly. 

“ One of us must go to the neighbors,” went 
on Jersey City. 

“ What can a cow do ? ” asked Mooley feebly. 
“ Oh, my poor mistress,” and she leaned against 
the side of her stall. 

“ You can go to Jones’ and stand by their gate 
and low,” said Jersey City. “ Then they will 
know that there is something the matter and 
will follow you home.” 

Mooley’s legs bent under her, and with a moan 
she lay down. 


66 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


“ What is the matter, are you ill too ? ” asked 
Jersey City. 

“ Oh, yes I am,” said the cow, “ what a fool I 
have been.” 

“ What have you done ? ” 

“ I drank some fish oil last evening. I didn’t 
know what it was,” said Mooley dismally ; “it 
was standing by the grocer’s and I was thirsty.” 

“You old simpleton,” said Jersey City sharply. 
Then he added more kindly, “ That was not like 
you, Mooley.” 

“ I am just like old Mr. May, the widow’s hus- 
band, who is now dead,” said the cow with a 
sigh. “ He had a great thirst and was always 
drinking something he shouldn’t.” 

“ Well, it can’t be helped,” said Jersey City ; 
“ put your head down and go to sleep ; I see you 
can’t walk. I’ll go to Jones’.” 

“ But some one may recognize you,” said 
Mooley ; “be careful what you do. Oh, I shall 
never forgive myself if it is found out that you 
are a runaway dog.” 

“Don’t worry,” said Jersey City; but as he 
trotted down the lane he muttered to himself: 
“ I am afraid they will. This is a most unfor- 
tunate affair. I wish I had been born a cur and 
not such a remarkable looking dog.” 

Ten minutes later he was looking desperately 
up at the Jones’ window. “Oh, what stupid 
people. I have barked and scratched and clawed 
at the door, but they won’t come out. I’ll have 
to go to the village. What sleepy heads they 
must be ; they ought to have been up long ago ; 


POOR JERSEY CITY 67 

however I must lose no time. What should I 
do if my kind mistress were to die ? ” 

At this thought he raced off at full speed to 
the village. 

The grocer, who was an early riser, was just 
taking down his shutters. Jersey City, who had 
scarcely any breath left, rushed up to the shop 
and dropped panting on the doorstep. 

The grocer looked at him. “ Get out of this, 
you impudent dog. Get out, I say,” and he 
kicked him aside as he went into the shop. 

Jersey City came back and stood behind him 
as he bent over to kindle a fire in his stove. 
“Not gone yet,” said the grocer, looking over 
his shoulder and throwing a piece of wood at 
him. “ Ugh, I hate dogs.” 

Jersey City rushed out, his heart beating 
almost to suffocation. There pinned against a 
row of canned vegetables he had seen a placard 
bearing a large picture of himself and offering a 
reward of one hundred dollars for his recovery. 

Jimson was a clever man — he had not given 
him up. What an unobserving man the grocer 
was not to have recognized him. He had better 
hurry away before he did so. He ran several 
paces then he stopped. 

“ I love the widow,” he thought, “ and she has 
been very good to me. Can I let her die alone ? ” 

“ No, no,” something seemed to say inside him. 
“ But if I make myself known to this cross 
grocer he will give me up to Jimson. How can 
I go back to that life ? ” reflected poor Jersey City 
in deep misery. 


68 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


He lifted his eyes to the blue sky. “It is so 
pleasant here in this open country. If I go 
back to the show I shall die. Never mind, I 
must do my duty or I shall despise myself,” and 
without hesitating an instant longer, he hurried 
back to the grocer. 

A few tumbles on the floor and a sad little 
waltz on his hind legs around some empty boxes 
brought the attention of the amazed man upon 
him. 

With his mouth wide open and holding up his 
sooty hands, the grocer looked from the perform- 
ing dog to the placard on the wall. 

“ The circus dog, as sure as I live,” he mut- 
tered. “That’s one hundred dollars in some- 
body’s pocket ; I wonder if I can catch him.” 

He snatched up a piece of rope and went cau- 
tiously after Jersey City, who had danced out 
through the door and into the road. Jersey City 
was careful not to let him catch up with him, 
and the grocer, half laughing, half angry, fol- 
lowed what he supposed was a crazy dog till he 
got near the widow’s cottage. • 

Then Jersey City gave up his antics and ran 
to the house as fast as he could go. The grocer 
ran after him, exclaiming, “ Soho, this is where 
you have found a hiding-place, is it ? ” Then he 
stopped short and threw up his hands, for on the 
bed lay a poor old woman, who looked as if she 
was dead. 

It was a beautiful winter day. The sun was 
shining gloriously on white fields of snow and 


POOR JERSEY CITY 69 

on the blue waters of the Basin. Everything 
in the landscape was calm and cheerful except 
two distressed figures of animals that stood on a 
high bank overlooking the water. 

One could tell that they were unhappy just to 
look at them. The cow stood with a drooping 
head, and there was a sad expression in her beau- 
tiful eyes. The dog’s tail hung limp, his ears 
were not pricked ; there was a desperate, hunted 
expression on his face. 

“ I wish you would give me a toss with your 
horns and send me over that bank, Mooley,” he 
said mournfully. 

The cow turned slowly toward him, “ What, 
down on those rocks? It would hurt you, Jer- 
sey City.” 

“ If you were to break a leg for me, Jimson 
would not take me away,” said her companion. 
u I would be spoiled for a trick dog if I only had 
something the matter with me.” 

“ I don’t think it would be right,” said the 
cow soberly ; “ the widow says that we mustn’t 
do a bad thing in order to bring about a good 
one.” 

“ I daresay that is so ; but oh, Mooley, I am 
so unhappy,” and Jersey City turned away his 
head to hide the tears in his eyes. 

“ It seems very hard,” observed the cow, “ that 
just as the widow has recovered and her son has 
come home with some money, and we are all so 
happy, that that miserable Jimson should come 
for you.” 

“He will be here in an hour,” said Jersey 


70 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


City with a shudder, “ and I shall have to go 
back to that old show with him. A week hence, 
Mooley, you may think of me jumping and roll- 
ing on a stage covered with sawdust ; my poor 
tricks drawing shrieks of laughter from a 
crowded house, and my heart like to break 
when I think of this peaceful home. I shall 
not live long, that is one consolation.” 

“ Jersey City, don’t,” said Mooley, and with a 
quick, ungainly trot she started for her stable. 

Jersey City ran beside her. “ I will say good- 
bye to you now, Mooley, for Jimson will allow 
no time for leave-taking, and I must spend my 
last minutes with my mistress.” 

Mooley stopped short and Jersey City went on, 
“ Good-bye, good-bye, dear old Mooley. You 
have been a kind friend to me. Some people 
say that animals do not love each other, but we 
know that that is not true.” 

The cow bent her head till it almost touched 
the ground. It seemed to her that she could 
never lift it up again, and Jersey City, who hated 
to see her suffer, hurried away. 

The widow sat by the fire talking to her son, 
who was a fine, strapping young man with red 
cheeks and curly hair. 

Jersey City sprang into his lap, for the sailor 
had petted him even more than the widow. 

“ Good dog,” said the sailor, playing with the 
dog’s velvety ears. 

“ Here is the man now,” exclaimed old Mrs. 
May, as a sleigh containing the grocer and Jim- 
son drove up to the door. “ Oh, dear, dear.” 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


71 


A terrible feeling came over Jersey City He 
crept under the stove and tried to make himself 
as small as possible. 

He was a brave dog and had planned to put a 
bold face on the matter, but the ordeal was too 
trying for him, and he felt like a timid young 
pup. 

“ Come in,” said the sailor, when Jimson had 
knocked at the door. 

“ Ah, good afternoon,” said a little, thin, wiry 
man who entered. “You have property of mine 
here, I think.” 

“Yes, sir,” returned the sailor, “and not 
stolen property either. This dog came here of 
his own free will.” 

“ I daresay, I daresay,” replied Jimson politely. 
“ Ah, there you are, Jersey City ; come out from 
under the stove.” 

It seemed to Jersey City that the bitterness of 
death was upon him. With a hunted look in 
his eyes he rushed across the room and crouched 
tremblingly at the sailor’s feet. 

The young man laughed sarcastically. “ Your 
dog does not seem to be very glad to see you, 
sir,” he said, addressing Jimson. 

“Do you call him Jersey City?” asked the 
widow ; “ what a strange name.” 

“Yes, it is peculiar,” said Jimson ; “he was 
born in Jersey City, that’s why we named him 
so. Come, my little clown,” and drawing a 
handsome steel chain from his pocket, he walked 
toward the dog. 

“Stop,” exclaimed the sailor, “you don’t 


72 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


touch that dog, sir, till you prove to us that he 
is willing to go with you.” 

“ Willing to go ” repeated Jimson, with a 

black look, “ why, he’s our own dog ; and I can 
tell you, a dog that costs us a trip from New 
York to Canada in the dead of winter isn’t one 
we’re going to have anybody dictate to us about.” 

“ Come, now, that’s an old-fashioned doctrine,” 
said the sailor. “ Formerly a man’s horse or 
cow or dog or any other animal was his to do 
with as he liked. Now the law says if a man 
owns a dumb beast he’s got to be merciful to it 
or he’ll be punished.” 

u I’d like to have any one prove that we have 
been cruel to this dog, or to any other animal 
we own,” said Jimson sneeringly. 

“ Prove — ah, yes, that’s where you have the 
advantage,” said the sailor. u I’ve voyaged a bit, 
and I know as well as you that the cruelty that 
goes on in dark and hidden places is the worst 
to get at. Look at that dog licking my feet and 
begging as plainly as a human being could that 
we will save him from you. I can’t prove that 
you’ve ever beaten him, but I know by his 
actions that you’ve done it, and I know that 
you’re going to do it again if you get a chance.” 

“ Oh, shut up,” said Jimson disdainfully, “ and 
get out of my way. I’ve got to take the train 
in thirty minutes.” 

Mrs. May opened her arms and took in the 
trembling form of her pet. “ My son is right,” 
she said firmly to Jimson. “ Poor Rover is un- 
happy ; you shall not have him.” 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


73 


Jimson fell into a terrible rage. “ I never saw 
such fools in my life,” he said in a low, furious 
voice. “ That dog is worth five hundred dollars 
to us. Do you suppose we are going to give 
him up for such trumpery notions as these ? ” 

“ Sit down, sit down, sir,” said the sailor, “ and 
take things coolly. You don’t understand us 
yet. I’ll just explain to you. Here’s a dog that 
ran away from you ; probably you treated him 
so well that he felt embarrassed. He came to 
•my mother. She petted him, and when she fell 
ill he brought some one to her and saved her 
life. The man that helped her does the dog a 
bad turn by letting you know that he is here. 
You come, and if the dog had jumped on you 
and licked your hands as he licks mine, I’d have 
let you take him. But what does he do ” 

“ Do,” repeated Jimson sullenly, “it's none of 
your business what he does. He hasn’t seen me 
for six months, and I’m going to have him, so 
you just hold up.” 

“Does a dog ever forget a good master?” 
asked the sailor warmly. “ Never — not so long 
as he has breath. That dog fears you with all 
the power he has, and I tell you you’re not going 
to have him to-day, so the sooner you make up 
your mind to that the better. I’m only a poor 
man, and you can get the law on me if you 
choose. I’ll go to court and the judge can see 
for himself how the dog acts. Then if the law 
gives him to you, I’ll follow you wherever you’re 
going, and if there’s any kind of society that’ll 
watch you, I’ll set them to work, and if I’m 


74 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


spared, I’ll be with you wherever you are, and 
I’ll take the liberty of telling the kind ladies 
and gentlemen, who are probably your patrons, 
this little story about your clown dog.” 

Jimson looked speechlessly at the young man. 

“I’m not down on shows in general,” pursued 
the sailor ; “I daresay there may be some where 
dumb animals are well treated, but I claim that 
there’s many a cruel one, and I believe yours is 
one of them. Perhaps if you take your own 
clown dog and have me trailing around after you' 
explaining why he doesn’t put much heart in 
his tricks, you’ll wish that you had listened to 
me.” 

The sailor was a very resolute looking young 
man and Jimson stared at him, wondering if he 
would do what he said. 

“ I brought home a little money to my 
mother,” said the sailor. “I’ll give you fifty 
dollars of it if you like.” 

Fifty dollars — Jimson glared wrathfully at 
him. Fifty dollars, and he had said that the dog 
was worth five hundred dollars. However it 
was better than nothing. “ Put your money 
aside,” he said in a choking voice, “ and you’ll 
hear from me.” Then he rushed from the 
room. He saw plainly that he couldn’t get the 
dog that afternoon and he would have to consult 
his employers before doing anything further. 

“ Don’t you ever come sneaking around here 
to steal him,” called the sailor as he stood in the 
doorway and watched Jimson get into the sleigh. 
“ I’m going to stay home now and work the 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


75 


farm, and I’m fond of the dog and he is fond of 
me, so he’ll never be more than two feet away 
from me. Try to be a little kinder to your 
other animals or they’ll be running away too.” 

Jimson sprang into the sleigh and drove away 
as fast as he could. 

“ I wonder what he’ll do,” said Mrs. May 
thoughtfully as she and her son re-entered the 
house. 

“ I don’t know,” said the young sailor ; “ but I 
have made up my mind, mother, that he’s got to 
have a struggle if he wants to get our little 
brother here away from us,” and he laughingly 
surrendered one ear to Jersey City, who in a 
transport of gratitude had sprung on his knees 
and was trying to lick his face. 

“ So, so, good dog — that will do — we’re going 
to have a long life together I hope,” said the 
young man. 

Jersey City leaped on the floor, ran round and 
round the room a dozen times as if he were 
crazy, then dashed out to the stable to tell the 
joyful news to Mooley. 

The cow was almost beside herself with joy. 
She could not speak for a long time and looked 
as if she had been struck dumb. At last she 
said solemnly: “ Jersey City, do you think that 
bad man will ever come back ? ” 

“No, no,” said the dog wildly ; “ I understand 
Jimson better than the sailor does. It would 
never do for him to get into the papers. It 
would ruin his business. The Bankstons will 
be very angry, but they won’t dare to molest the 


POOR JERSEY CITY 


76 

sailor, for the people who go to their show are 
good people and if they thought the animals 
were cruelly treated they would make a fuss and 
the Bankstons would be ruined. They will send 
for the fifty dollars and let me stay. Oh, oh, I am 
so happy. I cannot keep my paws still — I must 
go for a run in the orchard.” 

“ Can’t you do some tricks here ? ” said the 
cow ; “ that standing on the head is a beautiful 
one.” 

“ I will do it to please you, Mooley, but after 
that I shall never do any more tricks,” said 
Jersey City. “ They make my muscles ache and 
the blood rush to my head. Here goes for the last 
trick of Bankston and Sons’ clown dog.” And 
he walked all around the stable on his fore legs, 
then rushed out into the open air where for an 
hour and more the cow saw him careering over 
the snowy ground. 

Jersey City was right. Jimson never returned, 
but he sent for the fifty dollars ; and at this day 
the famous five hundred dollar clown dog of 
Bankston and Sons’ Great Show is living con- 
tentedly and happily with the widow and her 
son on the shores of the beautiful Bedford Basin 
of Halifax harbor, Nova Scotia. 













































































































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Page 100. 


Ill 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 



HEN he was a boy he was neither one 
of the best nor one of the worst of 
jj) boys, as he himself realized when he 
said to his mother, “ I guess I am a 
pretty middling sort of a chap, am I 
not, mother ? ” 

He had his good times and his bad times. I 
think he really tried to be good — except occa- 
sionally. 

One thing that helped him to overcome his 
faults was the very careful teaching that he got 
from his aunt and his mother. They were both 
busy women, for they lived in a big farmhouse, 
but they knew quite well that there is no more 
important work in the world for a woman to do 
than to train up a child in the way he should 
go ; so merry, mischievous Master Fritz received 
many a lesson from them in laws of kindness 
toward his fellow-beings and in his duty toward 
the lower creation and toward his Maker. 

At times his mind seemed to be running over 
with Bible truths. At such times he put on a 
little leather apron and went into a tiny work- 
shop that his father had fitted up for him. 


77 


78 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“ I wish to be a carpenter,” he said, “ because 
Jesus was a carpenter.” 

For days his mother and aunt would not have 
to complain of him. Then like many older 
people he would come out of his workshop, in 
which he seemed to leave all his good resolu- 
tions, and taking off his apron he would become 
just as troublesome as he could be. 

“ I think I shall have to whip you, Fritz,” his 
father said one evening when he came in from 
a long, cold drive from the town near them and 
found that Fritz had eaten a mince pie and ten 
plum tarts that he had been told not to touch. 

“ What do you want to whip me for ? ” asked 
Fritz. 

He had climbed on his father’s lap and they 
sat as cosily as possible before a leaping blaze in 
the open fireplace of the sitting room. 

“ Because you are so disobedient,” said his 
father, holding his head up very straight so that 
he might not be tempted to kiss the little brown 
pate resting so confidingly on his bosom. 

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Fritz reassuringly; 
“ I’ll grow out of it.” 

“ But you are getting worse.” 

“ Didn’t you get worse before you got better 
when you were a boy, father ? ” 

Mr. Herman bit his moustache. He had been 
a pretty lively boy himself and had had many a 
whipping. 

“ Fritz, I have got to whip yon. Your mother 
and Aunt Lotta will be in presently, and they 
asked me to do so. Go, get me the stick.” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 79 

“ Honor bright, father? ” asked Frit2, starting 
up and looking into the dark bearded face, 
usually good-natured and now anxious and 
worried. 

“Yes, honor bright, son ; you have been as bad 
as you could be the last few days.” 

Fritz slipped off his father’s knee. “ I don’t 
much approve of beatings,” he said slowly, 
“ and I guess you don’t either ; suppose we com 
— com — what is it you say ? ” 

“ Compromise,” suggested Mr. Herman. 

“Yes, that is it. Beating does not do me any 
good, father,” and the child lowered his voice to 
a confidential tone. “ It just makes me mad 
with you and wish I could hit back ; but I tell 
you what would make me feel real, truly sorry.” 

“ What is it? ” 

“ To make me take off all my clothes and^ 
jump into bed in the daytime — in the middle of* 
the day, mind,” said Fritz glancing uneasily 
about the pleasant room. 

“ Indeed,” said his father ; “ well, we shall re- 
member that to-morrow and try it if you are bad 
again. And in the meantime you may go to bed 
now.” 

“ Oh, come, father,” said the child, “ you would 
not send me off now when you have just come 
home and have not had your tea, and I know 
you have a present in your pocket for me.” 

“ Go, child,” said Mr. Herman, standing up so 
that Fritz could not get on his knee again. 
“You know that I do not like to punish you, so 
make haste.” 


8o 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“ Oh, oh, my heart is broken, but I will mind 
you, father,” and Fritz clung miserably to the 
legs of the tall man. “You will kiss me, father, 
won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, my son.” 

“And let me say my prayers here by the 
fire ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ I suppose it would be asking too much of 
you to come and see me into bed.” 

“ Where would the punishment come in, son ? 
You would get me upstairs telling stories to you 
and then Aunt Lotta and mamma would be 
vexed. Dinah will see to you.” 

“ When the Ford gives people little children, 
dcesn’t he want them to be kind to them ? ” 

“ Yes, Fritz ; but you don’t understand. God 
jvould be angry with me if I let you have your 
own way all the time. You know one of his 
servants, called Solomon, says that if you spare 
the rod you spoil the child.” 

“ Is that in the Bible, father ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ In the new Bible ? ” 

“The Revised version? yes, it is. I wish 
I could make you understand that we are all 
punished when we do wrong. God is my father 
as well as yours, and if I do not obey him and 
keep his commandments he punishes me just as 
I punish you.” 

“ Do you do wrong, father ? ” 

“Yes, often.” 

“ I did not think you did,” said Fritz thought- 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 8l 

fully ; “ and anyway, if you do, what business 
have you to punish little children ? ” 

“That is something I do not understand, 
Fritz,” said Mr. Herman humbly. “ I only 
know that we are all sinners, men, women, and 
children, and we have to obey God and keep his 
commandments or we shall have no happiness 
in this world or the world to come.” 

u Perhaps God does not think it is a sin for 
little boys to eat pies and tarts when they are 
hungry.” 

“ He does if they are forbidden to touch 
them.” 

“ What, even if they starve to death ? ” 

“You were not starving, and you may always 
have bread and butter.” 

“It is slow work, father, eating bread and 
butter all the time.” 

“ Do you want to be a tall, handsome man ? ” 

“ Yes, just like you, father.” 

“Then you must eat bread and butter, and 
porridge and milk, and very little cake and 
candy and pies. Now I think you had better 
stop trying to spin out this conversation.” 

“ I will say my prayers,” said Fritz, and kneel- 
ing down he prayed a long time that God would 
bless his dear father and grandmother and cous- 
ins and all the neighbors and the poor little 
children who had no comfortable homes and all 
the heathen in foreign lands.” 

“You have forgotten your mother and aunt,” 
said his father quietly when the boy got off his 
knees. 


82 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


Fritz turned his flushed face angrily toward 
him, “ I don’t pray for such folks.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Aren’t they getting me punished ? ” and the 
little lad stamped his foot and glanced toward 
the kitchen door. “ I wish a great black bear 
would come out of the woods and eat them both 
up.” 

“Now go right to bed and think that over,” 
said Mr. Herman. “ Just fancy what your feel- 
ings would be if you really saw a big bear trot- 
ting off to the woods with your dear mother in 
his mouth and your aunt L,otta on his back and 
you and I crying and waving our hands to them 
from the doorway. No — I don’t care to kiss you 
again after that speech about your mother. 
Good-night, and if you feel ashamed of it run 
downstairs for a minute and call through the 
keyhole, ‘ I will drive that bear away if he 
comes.’ Then I shall know that you are sorry.” 

Fritz slowly left the room and wandered up 
the wide oaken stairway to his little white room, 
where he found Dinah, the maid, waiting for 
him. 

She knew that he was being sent to bed 
earlier than usual and forbore to make any re- 
marks as she helped him to undress. 

“ Here is your medicine,” she said when he 
stood before her in his long white gown all 
ready to jump into bed. 

Fritz wrathfully pushed aside the tumbler, 
“I have taken thousands and thousands of 
trashes, and I am not going to take any more.” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


83 

“ Then I must call your mamma,” said Dinah. 

Fritz did not wish to see his mother just then. 
“ Here, give it to me,” he exclaimed, and he 
swallowed the brown draught at a mouthful 
and sprang between the sheets of his snowy bed. 

Dinah put out the light and went away and 
Fritz lay with eyes wide open staring at the 
windows where the blinds were drawn up and 
the shutters thrown back So that he could look 
out toward the stable and the barn where the 
animals that he so dearly loved were sleeping. 

Suppose Satan should have heard his wish and 
really send a bear to carry off his dear mother. 
Bears often took sheep away in the night. His 
mother slept on the first floor and her window 
was always wide open. He had often seen her 
there in the daytime when she had a headache, 
her flaxen hair streaming over the pillow, her 
blue eyes closed. A bear might jump right in 
beside her if he crept softly to the window. 
“ Well,” he muttered, “ I do not care, she is a 
bad mother. Let the bears have her.” And he 
turned over and went to sleep. 

In a few minutes he had a dream that seemed 
hours long. 

He fancied that a bear had taken his mother 
and his aunt and when he waked up in the 
morning there was no one to stand over him and 
say merrily, “ Wake up little son and run a race 
with mother. Let us see which will be first 
dressed.” 

There was no one to pour out the coffee at 
breakfast time for his father ; no one to laugh 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


84 

and chatter and make jokes ; no one to unfasten 
the troublesome knots that came in his strings 
so many times through the day ; no one to wash 
and dress him and take him to the town. 

The house was lonely and still and finally he 
began to cry and waked himself up. 

“ Oh, mother, mother,” he groaned, “ come 
back to Fritz. Have you gone, or where are 
you ? ” and he stumbled out of bed. 

“ That wicked old Satan that puts bad thoughts 
in my head, I wish the bears would get him. 
Oh, oh,” and moaning and sobbing he felt his 
way into the hall where a light was burning, and 
throwing his little bare leg over the baluster to 
expedite matters he slid downstairs. 

“Where is she?” he gasped, opening the sit- 
ting-room door and putting up his arm to shield 
his eyes, for the bright light had dazzled him. 
“ Oh, father, you did not let the bear come, did 
you ? Where is my mother ? ” and he stamped 
his foot and looked desperately at the surprised 
occupants of the room. 

Aunt Lotta was there and several young people 
of the neighborhood who had come in to call, 
and they had been laughing and talking and 
having a good time till Fritz appeared. 

“ Where is she ? ” he screamed, for by this 
time he had seen that his mother was not in the 
room. 

“ Oh ! ” and he gave a joyful shriek and rushed 
toward the kitchen door that opened at that in- 
stant, and showed his mother entering with a 
tray full of dishes of ice cream in her hands. 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 85 

Away went the ice cream, and away went 
Mrs. Herman’s composure as she found her ex- 
cited son clinging wildly to her and shouting 
threats as if he was crazy against all the bears 
that ever were born. 

“ Child of my heart,” she ejaculated, “ hast 
thou lost thy senses ? ” 

“ Alas, the ice-cream dishes,” exclaimed Aunt 
IyOtta, they are all broken — every one, and the 
cream is on the carpet.” 

“ Never mind,” said Mr. Herman. “ Give the 
boy to me ; I will explain.” 

Fritz, however, would not leave his mother. 
“You must not go out to-night, little mother,” 
he said in German, which he spoke as well as 
English ; “ neither to the stable to see the dogs, 
nor to the poultry yard, nor to the well, nor the 
gate. Tell me you will not go out — and mother, 
beware of the bears that steal the sheep. They 
will never take you, little house-mother, because 
you are good and fair, but beware of them,” 
and shuddering violently the child clasped her 
close to him. 

“ What is wrong with thee ? ” murmured his 
mother stroking his head. “ Thou art trem- 
bling like a little frightened lamb. Carl,” and 
she turned to her husband, “ thinkest thou it is 
the pie he has eaten? Five minutes ago, when 
I went to his room, he was sleeping like a baby.” 

“ You will sleep with me to-night, mother,” 
said Fritz earnestly, “ in my little bed ; for bears 
do not climb except in the trees. Promise me, 
promise, mother,” and his voice rose to a shriek. 


86 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“ Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Herman soothingly, “ I 
will draw another bed close to thine and thou 
shalt rest with thy hand in thy mother’s. Poor 
little lad,” and holding his fingers tightly in hers 
she excused herself from her guests and went up- 
stairs with him. 

Fritz was a very subdued little boy the next 
morning and all through the day, and Aunt Dotta 
watching him murmured roguishly, “ If it were 
not unkind I should wish that the scare of the 
bears might continue — so good is our little man.” 

When the evening came — the best time of the 
day for Fritz, because his father had then leisure 
enough to take him on his knee and talk to him 
— he sat by the fire singing softly to himself, “ I 
want to be an angel.” 

“ Sing it once again,” said his father coming 
quietly into the room. 

Fritz sang the hymn through once more in a 
pretty childish voice, then relapsed into silence. 

“Why do you shudder?” asked his father, 
passing his hand over the little frame pressed 
close against him. 

Fritz murmured something about the bears. 

“ Come, come,” said his father, “ where is my 
brave boy ? ” and with a merry twinkle in his 
eye, “You are too hard on my friends the bears, 
that I loved so much when I was a little lad. 
Why, my mother used to tell me many and many 
tales of kind bears that played with children.” 

“ Do bears really play with children, father ? ” 
asked Fritz. 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


87 


“No, I cannot say that they do ; but a bear 
would not hurt you, my small man, if you let 
him alone. He would run from you. My 
mother’s stories used to begin something like 
this : Once upon a time there were some little 
children going berrying. They did not know 
where they would find a good place till they met 
a kind old bear with her young ones, who said, 
‘ Come along, children, I always know where the 
best berries are and I will show you a fine spot.’ ” 
“ And would the children go, my father? ” 

“ Always — in my mother’s stories. They 
would fill their baskets with strawberries, or rasp- 
berries, or blackberries, or whatever the fruit 
was that they were after, then the old bear would 
escort them to her den and entertain them with 
stories of life in the woods until they had to go 
home. There was never any talk of wild bad 
bears from my mother.” 

“ But those tales were made up, my father.” 
“Yes, son ; but I can tell you true ones of ani- 
mals, ever so many of them, where there is no 
killing either on the side of man or beast. I 
lived, you know, as a boy, in a little house in the 
woods and my father used to go out again and 
again without a gun simply for the pleasure of 
observing the habits of wild animals. He used 
to play tricks on them too ; many a time have 
I seen him sitting laughing by our fireside, as he 
related funny things to my mother and me. 
Shall I tell you the story of a fox that he out- 
witted? ” 

“Yes, my father,” 


88 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“Well, he was a great mimic, this father of 
mine, and could deceive almost any animal that 
roamed through the woods. One day after a 
light snow he found the recent tracks of a fox 
on the ground. He crept behind an uprooted 
tree lying near by and began to chirp and squeak 
like a mouse. By-and-by he saw a fox come 
trotting along, now stopping to listen, now hold- 
ing up one foot then another, for, as you know, 
foxes are very wise creatures. Presently the 
fox got on the tree trunk and began to creep up 
toward the roots, where he hoped to find a fat 
mouse. My father stopped chirping, the fox 
looked over the roots, my father sprang up and 
said ‘ Hello,’ and the fox in his^ great surprise 
fell over and over to the ground, then ran away 
like the wind. The face of the fox as he stared 
at a man instead of the mouse he expected to 
find, was, my father said, the most ludicrous thing 
he had ever seen.” 

“ Was it right to deceive the fox, my father ? ” 

Mr. Herman smiled down at his son. “ Well, 
Fritz, strictly speaking I suppose it was not ; yet 
it was better than shooting him. I think we 
might look upon it in the light of a practical 
joke.” 

“ Please tell me about ‘ Woxie, Woxie, come 
out from under the barn,’ ” said Fritz. 

Mr. Herman laughed outright. “You never 
get tired of that tale, do you ? Here it is again : 
Years ago, when I was little more than a baby, 
my father had a tame young fox that I played 
with a great deal of the time. One day my 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


89 

father wished to sell him to a man who came for 
him ; but the fox, as if he knew he was to be sepa- 
rated from me, ran under the barn and no per- 
son could induce him to come out At last my 
father told me to call him, and I went down on 
my hands and knees and called, ‘ Woxie, Woxie, 
come out from under the barn.’ ” 

“ And the little red fox ran out,” interrupted 
Fritz eagerly, “ and crouched down beside you, 
and your father would not sell him, because you 
loved him so much.” 

“No, he did not sell him,” said Mr. Herman 
thoughtfully ; “poor little fox, I wish he had.” 

“Did you cry when he was shot?” asked 
Fritz. 

“ Yes, I did ; and for many a night I waked up 
in my sleep calling for Woxie.” 

“ It was naughty for the young man to shoot 
him,” said Fritz. 

“Yes, it was ; he might have known he was a 
tame fox when he saw him running about our 
barn ; but he aimed and fired at him before my 
father could interfere. Men are so ready to take 
life unnecessarily. Now, child, it is your bed- 
time.” 

“ Good night, my father,”, said Fritz quietly ; 
“ to-morrow will you tell me more stories about 
the woods ? ” 

“As many as you like,” said Mr. Herman 
kissing the little boy. “ Pleasant dreams, and 
may God watch over you, my little son.” 

For a whole week Fritz had been a good boy 


90 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


and had not once disobeyed his parents or Aunt 
L,otta. 

Then a morning came when he got up feeling 
rather cross. He frowned at himself in the 
glass, pulled at his shoe strings till he broke 
them both, and finally went to the breakfast 
table with so discontented a face that Aunt 
Totta shook her head and murmured, “ A change 
comes.” 

However, every one was careful to say some- 
thing pleasant to him, and he got through break- 
fast without an outbreak of temper. After that 
he did not go for a scamper with his dogs as he 
usually did, but hung about the kitchen watch- 
ing his Aunt L,otta and Dinah wash the break- 
fast dishes. 

His mother had shut herself up in the dairy 
and his father had gone to oversee some plow- 
ing. 

At ten o’clock Mrs. Herman came out of the 
dairy and looked at him. “ It is time for lessons, 
Fritz,” she said. 

The little boy followed her to the sitting room. 
“ Don’t you think I am a pretty big boy to be 
doing lessons at home ? ” he said fretfully. 

His mother sat down at the table and drew 
some books from the drawer. “No,” she said, 
“ I do not think so ; thou shalt soon go to school, 
little man. I wish it were not so far away. And 
thou knowest so little. I should be ashamed to 
have thee compared with the lads at the Four 
Corners schoolhouse. Dost thou remember how 
to spell horse, Fritz ? ” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 91 

“ No, I do not,” said the little boy ; “ and what 
does it matter? I can say it.” 

“ Suppose thou hadst a letter to write,” said 
his mother softly, in German. 

“I would picture the animal,” said Fritz 
calmly. “See, here is one,” and with a few 
strokes of a pencil he drew a really creditable 
horse on a piece of paper. 

His mother sighed. “ But, Fritz, thou couldst 
not send a series of drawings to thy friends, 
though thou art really clever with thy pencil. 
Come now, be reasonable ; try to remember how 
the word is spelt.” 

“ H-o-r-s,” said Fritz boldly. 

“No, my son, h-o-r-s-e.” 

“ Well, but mother, why not h-o-r-s ? If the ‘ e * 
is there I see no use for it.” 

“And I do not,” she said frankly; “yet it 
exists, and thou must remember it.” 

“ Mother,” he said firmly, “ I feel that I hate 
study this morning.” 

Mrs. Herman closed the books. “I see that,” 
she said sadly. “Fritz, didst thou say thy 
prayers this morning?” 

“No, mother, I did not.” 

“ And thou wilt kneel down now and ask the 
Ford Jesus to take the bad spirit from out thy 
heart.” 

“No, mother, I will not.” 

“ Then, Fritz, what wilt thou do ? ” 

“ I will run and play, little mother ; then if I 
come not back in an hour thou canst punish 
me.” 


92 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“ Oh, the odd boy,” said Aunt Lotta to herself, 
as she came into the room to go to the cupboard. 

“Go, then,” said Mrs. Herman to her son; 
“but first let thy mother kiss thee,” and draw- 
ing the little sturdy figure to her she kissed the 
dark stubborn face again and again, then she 
added softly, u I shall pray that thou mayst come 
back with thy evil temper gone.” 

Fritz did not kiss her. “ L,et me go, mother,” 
he said, pulling away from her. “I feel like 
Saul, the king of Israel, who threw the javelin 
at David.” 

“ Then linger,” said his mother, “ and let me 
sing to thee until better thoughts shall come.” 

“ No, no,” said Fritz, u I am choking,” and he 
hurried out to the front hall where he stood a 
long time on the doorstep kicking his feet. 

What should he do with himself? Away 
before him stretched a wonderful view of moun- 
tain, valley, and lake, but he was in no mood to 
be charmed by the beauty of natural scenery. 
He seized a cap from the rack behind him, and 
plunging his hands into his pockets, hurried 
down the walk to the front gate. 

The dogs shut up in the stable yard at a short 
distance from him heard his steps and barked 
with impatience ; but he did not go to let them 
out, though he knew that to keep them confined 
on so charming a morning was one of the most 
unkind things he could do to them. 

With their howls sounding in his ears, he 
went doggedly down the walk and struck into 
the road leading away from the town, and for 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 93 

three hours instead of one his mother did not see 
him. 

At noon when Mr. Herman came back his 
his wife told him of Fritz’ disappearance. 

“ I will go to find him,” he said. 

“ Without thy dinner? ” asked his wife. 

“Yes,” he replied; “a boy is of more impor- 
tance than a meal.” He was just starting from 
the house when he caught sight of Fritz coming 
up the road. 

They stood in the doorway and watched him. 
He was dragging himself along in a rather 
weary fashion; but when he caught sight of 
them he straightened himself and marched up 
the gravel walk, slashing the top of his high 
russet boots in a manly fashion with a smart 
whip that he carried in his hand. 

“ Well, father and mother,” he said politely, 
lifting his cap as he approached them and look- 
ing boldly into their faces ; “ I have both good 
and bad news for you.” 

u Indeed,” said his father. 

“Yes, father ; Frank Bray gave me this fine 
whip; that is the good news.” 

“ And the bad ? ” asked his father. 

“ I broke their parlor window.” 

“ Alas, that colored window that they are so 
proud of,” exclaimed his mother. 

“The very one, little mother.” 

“ How did you break it? ” asked his father. 

“ I was throwing stones at the swallows with 
Frank and ” 


94 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“Thou,” cried Mrs. Herman, in a dolorous 
voice, “throwing stones at the dear birds that 
thou lovest so much.” 

“ Even so, mother. I was in a bad temper. I 
felt that I could kill something.” 

“ And how do you feel now? ” asked Mr. Her- 
man. 

“ I feel that I am still a bad boy, but not so 
bad as Frank Bray.” 

“It is strange,” said Mr. Herman, “ that if you 
are so conscious of the badness of Frank Bray 
that you will still play with him ; and did you 
forget that I have forbidden you to go to the 
Brays’ farm ? ” 

“ I forgot nothing, my father ; but I was bad. 
Now I repent, and I shall go there no more.” 

“ Unless you disobey again,” said his father. 

“ I shall not disobey,” said the child proudly, 
and his face flushed as he looked up at them. 

“ Thou art weary,” said his mother, noticing 
the sudden droop of the child’s shoulders ; “ come 
into the house.” 

Fritz followed his parents to the sitting room 
and sat down at the table confronting them. 
They looked at each other ; what should they do 
to their disobedient son ? 

“ He must be punished,” said his mother decid- 
edly ; for though she loved her son intensely, 
she was yet more firm about matters of discipline 
than was her husband. 

“ He must be punished,” echoed Mr. Herman, 
“ yet not now ; we are all hungry and dinner is 
waiting. Let us have that first.” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


95 


Almost in silence they took their midday 
meal, then the parents returned to the sitting 
room with their little son. 

“It must be a whipping this time and not 
bed, is it not so ? ” said Mrs. Herman to her hus- 
band. 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” he replied. 

“ Must a boy have two whippings in one day, 
father?” asked Fritz, drawing himself up 
haughtily. 

“I do not know ; it depends upon the boy,” 
said Mr. Herman cautiously. 

“ I am already quite stiff,” said Fritz calmly, 
“and my back is sore.” 

“Who has dared to whip thee?” cried Mrs. 
Herman. 

“ Frank Bray’s father.” 

“ His father ? ” replied Mr. Herman. “ Why, I 
saw him but a short time ago upon the road and 
he staggered so terribly that I knew he had been 
to the saloon in the town.” 

“Yes, he was not himself,” said Fritz calmly. 
“ He spoke crossly of you. He said that you had 
cheated him about the calves.” 

“I did not,” said Mr. Herman hastily'; “he 
does not speak the truth.” 

“ I told him that,” said. Fritz. “ I said my 
father is honest and you are a liar.” 

“And then,” said Mrs. Herman breathlessly. 

“ He picked up a stick,” said the lad, “ and he 
tore my coat from my back and beat me till Mrs. 
Bray made him stop ; and oh, mother, I am so 
tired,” and the small boy finding that he could 


9 6 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


no longer keep up his courage, threw himself 
down beside her and sobbed, u Don’t whip me 
again, but put me to bed and sing to me and I 
will say my prayers, for I have been a wicked 
boy and I will never disobey you again.” 

“He is sufficiently punished — he will not visit 
those unprincipled people again,” said Mr. Her- 
man as he left the room. “ I leave him in your 
hands, Gretchen.” 

On the first of the next June Fritz was to 
have a birthday. 

“You are going to have a number of presents 
this year as usual,” said his father to him on the 
evening of the thirty-first of May ; “but among 
them is an extraordinary one — I never heard of 
a little boy getting one like it. I hope that you 
will be pleased with it. Remember, if you are 
not, you will make your father and mother very 
unhappy.” 

“ I think I shall be glad to get it,” said Fritz ; 
“ I am always pleased with my presents,” and he 
went to bed wondering what this mysterious 
thing could be. 

Beside his plate the next morning on the 
breakfast table were a number of packages, 
round, square, and three-cornered, and they con- 
tained the usual things — books, games, and con- 
fectionery. 

Fritz opened them with delight, turned them 
over and over and thanked his parents, then said, 
“ Where is the queer thing you were going to 
give me?” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


97 


“It is not there,” said Aunt Lotta who, in 
common with his parents, seemed to be full of 
excitement. “ Come to the parlor, come quietly 
and see it.” 

Fritz ran ahead of the grown people and 
threw open the door of the best room in the 
house. 

It was rather dark in there, but away in a 
corner farthest from the windows stood what 
seemed to him to be a huge wax doll. 

“ Am I a girl ? ” he asked in his first disap- 
pointment, and turning rather indignantly to his 
mother. 

“Go to it, my child,” she said earnestly. 
“ Do not despise it.” 

Fritz walked a^little nearer. It was certainly 
a very beautiful doll. Its complexion was pearly 
white, its curls were long and flaxen, and it was 
handsomely dressed in some white material. 

“ Kiss it,” said his father. 

The doll at this smiled, but Fritz, staring in- 
tently at it, was not surprised. He had seen 
smiling and even talking dolls before now. 

His Aunt Lotta, as if guessing his thoughts, 
cried out, “ This lovely doll can say your name. 
Just hear it.” 

Fritz saw the pretty lips part and heard the 
word “ Friss.” 

The boy began to be enlightened. Was it 
possible instead of being a very big doll this 
was a very small girl. 

He put out his hands to grasp the dainty crea- 
ture, but at his touch it eluded him, and to his 

G 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


98 

amazement he saw a little girl running across 
the room and being caught in his mother’s arms. 

“ Don’t you know her, Fritz ? ” said Aunt 
Eotta ; “ I thought you would recognize her from 
the photograph. It is your Cousin Elsa, who 
has come to live with us.” 

Fritz retraced his steps, and putting his hands 
behind his back, stared at the small girl with 
such a ludicrous expression on his face that the 
older people and Dinah, who stood in the door- 
way, all burst out laughing at him. 

The child had lifted her head and was peep- 
ing at him through her curls. 

“Ren he dot near I runned aray and hid 
messef,” she said merrily. 

Fritz was more astonished than ever. What 
kind of language was this ? 

“You will soon understand her,” said Mr. 
Herman, with amusement. “ I have been puz- 
zling over her funny talk, and I find that if you 
remember that she usually says d for g ; s or z 
for t and th ; r for w, with a few more fancy 
changes, you will get a clue to what she says. 
She is very like you, Gretchen,” he went on, 
touching with gentle fingers the flaxen curls 
that were just the shade of his wife’s hair. 
“ Her eyes are blue and her cheeks are pink and 
white as yours.” 

“She is more like Gretchen than Fritz is, 
much more,” said Aunt Eotta. 

“ Fritz is his father’s boy,” said Mr. Herman, 
“ he is dark and swarthy.” 

Mrs. Herman lifted her face. “ Why should 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


99 


not the child resemble me ? She belongs to my 
own sister, who was as like me as if we were 
twins.” 

“ Father,” said Fritz, “ is this the child from 
the city ? and what is she doing here ? ” 

“Well, son,” said Mr. Herman, “you know 
the city is a very bad place for little girls in 
summer, and Elsa’s parents, who live in a 
crowded street, have sent her here to play with 
you. Come out in the hall and I will explain 
further,” and he drew the boy with him and 
went on in a lower tone. “Her father and 
mother are poor and cannot afford to live in a 
large house as we do, and I should like to keep 
this dear child for some years, for I fear that she 
will grow pale and thin in the city, but every- 
thing depends on you. If you are unkind to 
her we shall send her away. She is very sensi- 
tive and cannot bear a harsh word ; so you will 
have to be careful.” 

“I am never rough with girls,” said Fritz, 
drawing himself up ; “ but I wish she had been a 
boy.” 

“ So do I for some reasons,” said Mr. Herman ; 
“ but perhaps in a few weeks we shall not say that. 
She only arrived last evening and already I am 
quite fond of her. Don’t you want to take her 
out to see your dogs ? ” 

“Yes,” said Fritz shyly ; but he did not ask 
the little girl to go with him, and Aunt Eotta 
said “ It is just as well. Children are like grown 
people — they do not jump into an acquaintance 
with each other.” 


IOO 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


Fritz had always lived on the farm at some 
distance from other children, and it seemed a 
very singular thing to him that one should come 
to live in the house with him. 

All day long he kept watching the little 
maiden — he would not go out of doors to play at 
all — and Elsa, for her part, peeped at him from 
behind her aunt’s skirts, shook her curls and 
made funny speeches about him that kept them 
all laughing. 

Date in the afternoon, when Mrs. Herman and 
Aunt Lotta were entertaining a visitor in the 
parlor, Elsa went out to the hall where Fritz 
was loitering about. Without saying anything 
he sauntered out to the lawn in front of the 
house, and she followed him. 

“ It’s a fine day,” he said, looking over his 
shoulder and endeavoring to begin a conversa- 
tion in an easy way. 

“ Have you dot a dolly ? ” asked Elsa earnestly. 

“ No,” replied Fritz gently ; “ boys don’t play 
with dolls.” 

“ Do you rant to see my dolly,” said Elsa. 

Fritz hesitated a moment to find out what she 
meant, then he said, “Yes, I do.” 

Elsa flew into the house shaking her yellow 
curls, and soon returned with a brown-eyed doll 
in her arms. 

“ Isn’t her dolden hair sreet?” she said, as she 
caressed the head of her pet. 

Fritz took the doll in his arms and held it 
awkwardly for a few minutes, then returned it 
to its owner. 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


101 


“ Would your doll like to take a walk about 
the place?” he asked politely. 

“ Speak, dolly, rill you ? ” said Elsa, putting 
her ear to the doll’s mouth. 

“ Res, she rill,” said the little girl gleefully, 
“ dolly loves to ralk about.” 

The two children strolled down to the gate, 
and Fritz pointed out the beauties of the crystal 
lake, the woods, the mountain, and the green 
fields as he had heard his father do with strangers. 

Elsa listened attentively without making any 
remark, and Fritz thought that she was not 
much interested till he turned to go away. 
Then he found that she was surveying the moun- 
tain with rapt attention. She had never before 
seen so high a place, and her little face was a 
study. 

“ Does Dod sleep up sere ? ” she asked in an 
awed voice. 

“No,” replied Fritz, “God sleeps in heaven.” 

“ Oh, I sought he sleeps sere,” returned Elsa, 
with a disappointed face, “ cause I see big blank- 
kets floatin’ down,” and she pointed to the fleecy 
clouds gliding over the mountain tops. 

“We will ask mother when we go in the 
house,” said Fritz. “Perhaps heaven is up 
there. Come, let us go to the stable yard now.” 

Some cows were just coming in to be milked, 
and to Fritz’ surprise he found Elsa’s little 
hand slipped timidly in his, while she stood 
staring in open-eyed amazement at the big- 
horned animals. 

“ Are sey lions ? ” she whispered fearfully. 


102 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


u Did you never see a cow ? ” exclaimed Fritz. 

“ I never saw sose sings before,” said Elsa 
convincingly. 

“ Why, you must have,” said Fritz, for he 
could not imagine a properly constituted house- 
hold to which a cow was not attached. “ Where 
did you get your milk ? ” 

“ Ze milkman brought it in little cans ; sere 
rere nosings like sose in my home.” 

“ How did the milk get into the cans ? ” asked 
Fritz. 

“ I don’t know. I dess ze milkman made it.” 

This dense ignorance Fritz did not attempt to 
enlighten. He was not yet well enough ac- 
quainted with Elsa to reason much with her, so 
he stood silently by her while she watched with 
intense excitement the process of milking. 

One of the stablemen put some straw on the 
top of a box for her to sit on, and while she re- 
mained there, her big blue eyes taking in every 
detail of the scene which, so familiar to Fritz, 
was like a fairy scene to her, Mr. Herman and 
the dogs came home. 

With the latter she was delighted. “ I love 
ze dogs,” she exclaimed, as they came romping 
up to her box ; “ dood dogs, come up and see me,” 
and putting her doll behind her, she fearlessly 
held out her hands to the big, strong creatures 
who were leaping upon their young master. 

First came a greyhound called Reno ; then 
Fifer, a box-headed Newfoundland ; Jock, a 
cocker spaniel ; and a dear little terrier. 

Mr. Herman pointed to this last. “ Here is 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 103 

a gentle little dog that you may have for youi 
own, Elsa. I only bought him yesterday ; now 
what will you name him ? ” 

The dog sat looking up at Elsa as if he knew 
what they were saying. 

“ Dive him to me, please,” she exclaimed, and 
Mr. Herman lifted him to the top of the box. 

She threw her arms around the dog’s neck, 
then said, “ Doggie, I love you, and I rill call 
you Lammie.” 

“ That is a funny name for a dog,” said Fritz. 

“Zen I will call him Pussy.” 

“ Why, he isn’t a cat,” said Fritz. 

“Zen I rill call him Puppy.” 

“That is better, because that is what he is, 
but I don’t think it is a very pretty — — ” 

His father looked at him and he stopped, for 
he did not want to be impolite to his cousin. 

“What a pretty sight,” said Mrs. Herman, 
who had come out to the stable yard to call her 
husband and the children to tea. 

Elsa sat perched on the box hugging her new 
pet, who seemed delighted with his mistress. 
Fritz stood protectingly beside her with his dogs 
about him, while Mr. Herman was bending over 
a sick sheep that he had brought out into the 
yard to examine. The cows stood leisurely 
chewing their cud and looking about them, 
while the horses gazed happily out through the 
doorway of the stable at the master who was so 
kind to them. Even piggy at a little distance 
was grunting contentedly, and Mrs. Herman 
murmured to herself the words : 


104 WHEN HE WAS A BOY 

He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small 

“ My mother,” said Fritz one hot afternoon 
when the summer was half over, “ there is a 
thing I long to do.” 

“Will you name it ? ” asked his mother. 

“ I wish to play Lohengrin.” 

“ Very good, my son ; I have no objections to 
you doing so.” 

“ And may I have all the gowns and the fix- 
ings that I wish? ” 

“Yes, child, if you will spare my very best 
ones.” 

“ I will do so ; and now where are Elsa and the 
dogs ? ” and he ran away. 

“ Play in a cool place, my child,” Mrs. Her- 
man called after him ; “do not go in the sun — it 
is too hot.” 

“ I will come just where you are, mother,” 
said Fritz. 

Mrs. Herman and her sister were out on the 
lawn in front of the house busy with some sew- 
ing spread on a table before them. 

Mr. Herman lay stretched out on the grass at 
their feet. He had just had his dinner and was 
resting for a short time before going back to his 
work. 

“ What an agreeable thing it is that the two 
children have never quarreled,” he said ; “ they 
play so amiably. I was afraid that before this 
time Fritz would have wounded Elsa’s tender 
feelings.” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


105 

“ He has not,” said Mrs. Herman ; “he is a 
gallant little lad is our Fritz ; not once has he 
made Elsa cry.” 

“And she too has failings,” said Aunt Eotta ; 
“ Elsa is not perfection.” 

“ Indeed, no,” said Mr. Herman ; “ but it is an 
excellent thing for Fritz to have her here, for he 
undoubtedly is learning self-restraint and gentle- 
ness — two qualities that he needed sorely. Ah, 
here they come.” 

“ Do not laugh,” said Mrs. Herman warn- 
ingly. 

Mr. Herman put one hand up to his face and 
leaned his head on the other. 

Fritz appeared first leading the solemn-faced 
greyhound who was attired in an old red dress- 
ing gown of Mr. Herman’s which caught in his 
feet and made him stumble as he walked. 

“ Now, old fellow,” said Fritz addressing him, 
“ this is the meadow of Antwerp and you are 
King Henry — sit up here on your throne,” and 
he assisted Reno to a chair placed against a tree, 
“ and don’t move till I tell you.” 

The greyhound propped himself against the 
back of the chair and Fritz carefully placed a 
gilt crown on his brows. 

“Now, where is Telramund?” said Fritz. 
“ Fifer, Fifer, Fifer,” and he called the New- 
foundland dog; “you will make a good bad 
knight,” and seizing a bright blue sash from a 
heap of clothing that he had flung on the grass 
he tied it around the dog’s waist and stuck a 
piece of wood in it for a dagger. 


106 WHEN HE WAS A BOY 

Fifer ran about barking and occasionally look- 
ing over his shoulder at the huge bow of silk on 
his back. 

“That is right,” said Fritz, “make all the 
noise you can. Telramund was bad and boister- 
ous. Now who will be the herald ? I will be, 
because there is no other person,” and he called 
loudly, “ Elsa, Princess of Brabant, Telramund 
says that you killed your brother. Where are 
you, naughty one ? ” continued the boy looking 
all about him. “ Elsa will appear now and 
everybody will say, 1 Sie kommt.’ Speak, dogs.” 
The hound, the Newfoundland dog, and Puppy 
and Jock who were in the background, all barked 
loudly, and at that moment little Elsa appeared 
trailing over the grass a long white towel which 
Fritz had pinned as a train to the back of her 
frock. 

She had played Lohengrin before and knew 
just what to do, so without a word from Fritz 
she prostrated herself at the feet of the grey- 
hound. 

“ I’m a dood dirl, Mr. King — zat old dog, no, 
zat old knight is ze rurst sing I ever saw. A 
dood man rill fight for me.” 

“ Isn’t she a picture ? ” murmured Aunt Eotta. 
“ I wish her mother could see that bowed golden 
head and those hands so meekly clasped.” 

“ And that expanse of bath towel,” said Mr. 
Herman, who was laughing quietly. “ The 
dear children — how amusing they are ; but hark, 
what is the herald saying?” For Fritz had 
again sprung to his feet on the grass and was 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


IO7 


loudly vociferating through a tin trumpet held at 
his mouth, “ I call for a knight to prove the in- 
nocence of Elsa, Princess of Brabant.” 

For some time no knight came and little Elsa 
stepping aside pretended to cry bitterly. 

“ Why does not Fritz disappear? ” asked Mr. 
Herman. “ He is the knight himself.” 

“ He is keeping one eye on Elsa to see that 
she gets to the proper pitch of emotion,” said 
Mrs. Herman. “ Ah, there he goes.” 

Fritz threw down his trumpet and ran around 
the corner of the house. After a long time they 
heard him coming back. Unable to fully repre- 
sent the beautiful knight in his coat of mail 
standing in a boat drawn by a milk white swan 
he had got a duck from the barnyard and had 
fastened it to a small clothes basket. The duck, 
a pet one, waddled nimbly toward Elsa, while 
Fritz, unable to get into the basket, walked beside 
it, carrying a tray for a shield and a cane for a 
sword. 

Elsa manifested great excitement at his ap- 
pearance and throwing her white towel over her 
arm flew between him and the duck alternately 
embracing them. 

The duck quacked with pleasure and Lo- 
hengrin kissed her hand. 

“ Now I am going to fight the bad Telra- 
mund,” said Fritz. “Stand forth, O knight,” 
and he shook his cane at Fifer. 

The dog seemed to understand the play and 
jumped playfully from side to side while Fritz 
thrust at him with his cane. 


108 WHEN HE WAS A BOY 

Fritz was intensely interested ; of all the 
German stories that his mother was in the habit 
of relating to him Lohengrin was his favorite 
and the one he played most often ; but little Elsa 
being younger did not take so much interest in 
it, and on this day she was hot and tired, so to 
his dismay the boy suddenly heard from her the 
exclamation, “I don’t rant to play any more.” 

“ Hush, princess,” he said barely turning his 
head. “ The bad Telramund will kill me if I 
stop fighting him.” 

“I don’t rant to play any more,” said Elsa 
more decidedly; “unfasten sis nassy old sing,” 
and she pulled at the towel on her dress. 

Fritz turned around at this and forgot for a 
time the fierce Telramund who was leaping at 
him. “ Won’t you play a little longer? ” he said 
pleadingly. “ Just a little while? ” 

“ No,” said Elsa willfully, “ I’d raser play rith 
my dolly.” 

At her words the noble Lohengrin did a 
shocking thing. Instead of taking the safety 
pins from his dear princess’ train he walked up 
to her and deliberately slapped her. 

Elsa for a moment was too astonished to cry. 
She stared at him as if she thought he had taken 
leave of his senses. He had been so gentle with 
her up to this time. He had never pinched her 
nor pushed her nor teased her in any way and 
now he had given her a good smart slap on her 
little fat neck. 

She gave a stifled shriek of dismay and ran to 
throw herself in Mrs. Herman’s arms. 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 109 

Fritz flushed painfully — he had struck a girl 
— and that girl was dear little Elsa, his own 
cousin, who played so lovingly with him when 
she was not tired. Would she ever forgive him ? 

Quite the opposite of most other times when 
he did wrong, his repentance was immediate. 
He threw down his shield and spear and walked 
toward the stable. 

After a time his father followed him and 
found him sitting on a bundle of hay and look- 
ing thoughtfully into a dark corner. 

“ Poor Lohengrin,” said Mr. Herman gently, 
as he placed his hand caressingly upon him. 

Fritz looked at him in an ashamed way. 
“ Did I hurt her much, father? ” 

“No, my son, you frightened her more than 
you hurt her.” 

“ I forgot that I was Lohengrin,” said Fritz 
humbly. 

“Yes,” returned his father. “ It would not do 
for the knights who go about the world assisting 
innocent mortals in distress to lose their tempers 
every time they are provoked and strike some 
one. What else did you forget, Fritz ? ” 

“ I don’t know, father.” 

“ Can you remember what your text was yes- 
terday morning ? ” 

“ Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit 
the earth.” 

“ Do you think that you can be meek and also 
bold?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ In what way ? ” 


no 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


“ I cannot explain it, but the Lord Jesus was 
both, was he not ? ” 

“ He was. That is the best example you could 
give. If you can be like him you will be a 
better man even than Lohengrin.’ ’ 

“Shall I go and tell Elsa that I am sorry?” 
asked Fritz, getting up and walking toward the 
open door. 

“ Yes ; my son, she is very much disturbed over 
your behavior. An apology will console her.” 

“My father,” said Fritz suddenly stopping 
short, “ little girls often anger boys ; suppose I 
should slap her again? ” 

“ Do you wish to do it ? ” 

“ No, no ; but you know my quick temper.” 

“ Look at that then,” said Mr. Herman, sup- 
pressing a smile and pointing to a little clump 
of oats growing outside the stable yard. 

Fritz’s pet hen Jenny was jumping up and 
down in a fashion most unusual for hens, and her 
young master stared at her for a few seconds 
without understanding what she was doing. 
Then he exclaimed, “ She is springing up to get 
the oats.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Herman, “she is picking 
them one by one, and going through a course of 
gymnastics to attain her object. She will not 
give up until she gets them all. Can you not 
learn a lesson from her ? ” 

“ Never to give up, my father? ” 

“ Yes, Fritz.” 

The little boy walked slowly toward the house. 
Elsa was sitting on the grass close beside his 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


III 


mother holding her dolly. When she heard him 
coming she lifted her head and Fritz blushed 
when he saw her red eyelids and tear-stained 
face and noticed that she shrank timidly from 
him. 

“ I shall try never to slap you again, Elsa,” 
he said ; “I am always impatient when I play 
Eohengrin. Will you forgive me ? I am really 
very, very sorry.” 

Elsa looked at him without understanding 
that she was to say “ yes.” 

“ Elsa,” said Mrs. Herman, “ Fritz will play 
with you now kindly and not roughly. Will you 
kiss him ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the child with the ghost of a 
former sob and throwing down her doll as she 
offered her cheek to her cousin. “ I rill play 
Eo’grin.” 

Fritz looked eagerly at his mother, but she 
shook her head. “Not to-day, some other time. 
It is hot and that is a long play for a little girl.” 

u Rell,” said Elsa, “ rut shall re play ? ” 

“Sit down in the grass, both of you,” said 
Mrs. Herman, “ and I will tell you a story about 
the Lord Jesus when he was a little boy.” 

Eong before the story was over Elsa had 
dropped asleep. 

“ Look at her mother,” said Fritz, “is she not 
like a doll ? ” 

“ Dolls do not sigh in their sleep,” said Mrs. 
Herman. 

Fritz dropped his eyes. “ Ah, little mother, 
she perhaps dreams of my unkindness — but con- 


112 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 


tinue the story. When I hear of noble deeds I 
too long to be noble. I should like to go to Jeru- 
salem and talk to the doctors in the temple. 
How can I be a perfect boy ? ” 

“ Thou canst not be perfect,” said the mother 
softly in German, “ but thou canst be one of the 
best of boys and be master of thy temper as thou 
well knowest if thou wilt do — what is it, Fritz ? 
thou knowest.” 

“I must love God and keep his command- 
ments,” said the child ; “ but, little mother, it is 
so hard.” 

“ All that is worth having in this world is dif- 
ficult to attain,” said Mrs. Herman. “ Remem- 
ber that, my child, in thy journey through life.” 

Fritz sat thoughtfully leaning his head against 
his mother’s shoulder for a long time, then look- 
ing at him she saw that he too had fallen asleep. 

“ May God bless and keep my high-spirited 
darling,” she murmured, lightly brushing the 
thick hair from his forehead, “ and make him a 
true and humble knight in the service of Jesus 
Christ.” 

These events happened some years ago when 
Fritz was a boy. Now he is a tall and sturdy 
lad and it is hardly saying too much to state that 
he is all that his parents could wish him to be. 
He is manly and loving and a true Christian lad, 
willing to fight the battles of life prayerfully and 
soberly and to say with humility when he has 
done wrong, “ I repent, Ford Jesus ; give me 
strength to keep from falling another time.” 


WHEN HE WAS A BOY 113 

Little Elsa, now tall Elsa, still lives with the 
Hermans, for her parents both died and she has 
become Fritz’ adopted sister and a joy to the 
whole household. 

A happy Christian family let us leave them. 
May all boys be as happy as Fritz and all girls 
contented like Elsa. 



H 


IV 

THE LITTLE PAGE 


fN all the city of Ottawa there was not a 
happier boy than Stephen Harland. 

He was one of the little pages in the 
House of Commons and every morning he 
hurried from his home up to the handsome 
stone parliament buildings on the hill where he 
waited on the gentlemen who assembled there. 

Stephen thought that it was very kind in 
these gentlemen to leave their homes and come 
from all parts of Canada to make laws for their 
fellow-countrymen. 

“ Politics,” he said one day when he was talk- 
ing to a group of pages assembled around the 
news-stand out on the street, “ that’s when you 
look after the men that can’t take care of them- 
selves. Business is when you’re selfish and look 
out for number one.” 

The other pages raised a shout of laughter. 
They had been pages longer than Stephen had, 
and they did not have a very good opinion of 
some of the politicians. Stephen paid no atten- 
tion to their laughter. He liked all the gentle- 
men whom he served and found no fault in 
them. 

114 


The House of Parliament at Ottawa. 






the eittee page 


TI 5 

“ You’re a green one,” they called after him ; 
but he only smiled and ran home to his grand- 
mother, for he never loitered about the street as 
the other boys did. 

He had a dear old grandmother who had 
brought him up ever since he had been a baby 
and she seemed like a mother to him. 

Every evening she sat knitting by the window 
while she watched for him to come home, and 
when she saw his dark head passing underneath 
she said softly, “ Praise God.” 

Sometimes the little page was kept very late 
when there was a long session of the House, but 
the grandmother never went to bed till he ar- 
rived. 

Whenever he entered the room his first ex- 
clamation was, “ How are you, grandmother? ” 

“Well and hearty, Stephen,” her reply always 
was ; “ and how are you.” 

“Same as yourself, grandmother,” he would 
say ; then the old lady never failed to ask, “ How 
is Sir James? ” 

“Sound as a nut, grandmother; he’s good 
for twenty years yet. Ah, what a good man he 
is ! ” And then the little page would sink on a 
stool by the fire and while his grandmother was 
getting his tea ready for him he would dreamily 
look at the coals and think over the different 
things he had heard his beloved Sir James say 
that day. 

Sir James was the leader of the government 
and it was he who had gotten Stephen his posi- 
tion as page. There had been some other boys 


Il6 THE tittle page 

applying for the vacancy and one of them had 
scornfully told Stephen that he would never be 
accepted because he was a stranger in Ottawa. 

Stephen only smiled at him. The other boy 
did not know that his grandfather had been a 
gardener to Sir James’ father and that Sir James 
had promised to give Stephen a pageship. 

Sir James was a tall man with gray wavy hair, 
a large nose, a large mouth, and smiling eyes. 

He was always cheerful. Stephen had never 
seen him get angry. Sometimes he was very seri- 
ous, sometimes very rebuking when he talked 
to the gentlemen who were on the other side of 
politics and who sat opposite him in the House, 
but Stephen had never seen him lose his temper. 

When the pages were not running errands 
about the chamber in which the House of Com- 
mons met, they sat in a row at the foot of the 
Speaker, a tall gentleman in a gown and gloves 
who occupied the throne seat. 

One day Stephen sat there his eyes fixed in- 
dignantly on a member of the opposition who 
was standing up shaking his forefinger in the 
air and uttering very harsh sentences as he gazed 
toward the place where Sir James sat. 

This gentleman was accusing Sir James of 
running the country in debt. 

Stephen’s blood boiled as he listened to him. 
It was well that no member signaled to him to 
get a glass of water or to bring or take away 
papers, for he would not have seen him. No 
one did for every one was staring hard at the ex- 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


II 7 

cited man in the opposition benches as he shook 
his finger at Sir James, who merely glanced past 
him up at the galleries. 

Stephen looked admiringly at his patron, 
whose eyes coming slowly down from the gal- 
leries met his. 

Sir James nodded and in an instant Stephen 
was at his side. 

“ My boy,” said the great man laying his hand 
on the shoulder of the pale and trembling child 
who stooped to receive his order, “run out in 
the fresh air for a few minutes, but first ” — and 
he took a pink rose from his buttonhole — “ carry 
this up to Lady Delorme in the Speaker’s gal- 
lery. Do you see her ? ” 

“Yes, Sir James,” replied Stephen and hurried 
away. 

The member of the opposition was still roaring 
sentences in a tremendous voice at Sir James, 
but the other members were not listening to 
him as attentively as before. They were watch- 
ing the little page. 

Two minutes later they saw him going through 
the galleries with the rose in his hand. When 
he presented it to Lady Delorme she looked 
down at her husband and with a smile bowed 
and fastened it on her breast. 

The member of the opposition had been watch- 
ing the flower instead of attending to what he 
was saying, and he soon began to get confused 
and finally sat down muttering, “ Of what use 
are thunder and lightning against such a man ? ” 

Everybody was laughing at him. 


Il8 THE EITTEE PAGE 

“ It serves him right for saying bad things,” 
said Stephen to himself as he re-entered the 
chamber. “Sir James loves his country and 
would do nothing to injure it. Ah, he is going 
to speak,” and he sat down on the steps. 

Sir James rose slowly. When every eye in 
the chamber was fastened on him, he began to 
talk about Canada — the child among nations — 
and the duty of her sons toward her. 

Stephen’s face flushed as he listened to him. 
Oh, what grand words ! He must remember 
every one of them to tell to grandmother. 

“ I am proud that I am a Canadian boy,” he 
murmured to himself ; “ when I grow up I will 
be a politician and will work for Sir James and 
my country.” 

Sir James spoke for a long time and when at 
last he sat down, there was a great roar of ap- 
plause — hands were clapped and feet stamped ; he 
had shown that he had given up ease and wealth 
for his country ; he was not robbing her, and the 
member of the opposition, as he listened to him, 
hung his head. 

Stephen was sleeping soundly one night when 
he heard some one call him. 

“ Grandmother, is that you ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, Stephen,” she said in a firm voice ; 
“ will you come here ? ” 

He ran hastily from his room to hers. “ Don’t 
you feel well, dear grandmother?” 

“No, Stephen,” she replied. He hurriedly 
lighted a candle. 


THE UTTI,E PAGE 119 

“ Oh, how pale you are ! ” he cried. “ Shall 
I go for a doctor? ” 

She shook her head. “No, thank you. Give 
me that bottle of medicine and go put on some 
clothes. I want to talk to you.” 

In a very few minutes Stephen came running 
back. “ Shall I light a fire, grandmother? ” 

“No, my dear child ; sit down here,” and she 
pointed to the edge of the bed. “Now will you 
be brave and listen to what I am going to say ? ” 

“Yes, grandmother,” he answered wonder- 
ingly. 

“ I have often talked to you of heaven,” she 
said calmly, “ that happy place where we shall 
go if — if what, Stephen ? ” 

“ If we love God,” said Stephen reverently. 

“ That is right ; and do you remember that I 
have always said that probably I would go first, 
for I am old and you are young ? ” 

“I do, grandmother,” he said, his lip trem- 
bling ; “but you are not going yet.” 

“Yes, Stephen, my hour has come.” 

The little page sat staring at her, his face as 
pale as death. 

“ Would you wish to keep me back from that 
beautiful place ? ” she asked. 

“No, grandmother.” 

“ I will be waiting for you — never forget that, 
Stephen — and when you come we will wander 
together through green fields and by the still 
waters and we shall see our Saviour face to face. 
O Lord, how long?” and the old woman fell 
back on her pillows and clasped her hands. 


120 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


Stephen had a wild desire to throw himself 
down by her side and burst into tears, but he 
overcame it. 

“ You will not be alone in the world,” said 
his grandmother gently ; “ we have not made 
many friends here yet, but I have asked Mrs. 
Jones to let you live with her. Sir James has 
promised to get you a situation when you are 
older, where you will earn enough money to 
support yourself.” 

“ Very well, grandmother,” said the little 
page, choking back a lump in his throat. 

“ Here is a letter that I have written to Sir 
James,” said his grandmother, drawing an en- 
velope from under her pillow ; “ when the time 
comes that you are too old to be a page take 
this to him. He will remember ; and now, 
Stephen, you must call Mrs. Jones.” 

“ Grandmother, are you going to die now ? ” 

“Yes, my dear boy.” 

“ But you speak quietly, you are only pale. 
Grandmother, are you not mistaken ? ” 

“No, Stephen.” 

“Grandmother,” he said, “grandmother,” and 
he stood up very straight beside the bed and 
clenched his hands to keep from crying, “ what 
am I going to do without you ? ” 

“I do not know, my dear lamb,” she said 
softly, “ unless you choose this time to give your 
heart to the Lord.” 

“ Grandmother, I cannot do that. I love God, 
but I do not love him so much as I do you.” 

“ Earthly friends fail us ; I warned you of this, 


THE UTTEE PAGE 12 1 

Stephen ; now is the time the Lord Jesus would 
put his arms around you, Stephen, if you would 
let him.” 

“ I have Sir James left,” Stephen said. 

“ Suppose he should die.” 

“ Then I would die too,” and the little page 
threw himself on his knees by the bed. 

“ Poor lamb, poor lamb,” and the old woman 
fondled his head, “ if I could only take you with 
me ; but you will come. The Lord is preparing a 
path. You will read in your Bible every day ? ” 
“Yes, grandmother,” he sobbed. 

“ And say your prayers ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” and he flung his arms around 
her neck. “Grandmother, don’t send for Mrs. 
Jones. Let me have you to myself till the last.” 
“Will you not be afraid ? ” 

“ Afraid of you ? ” and the little page drew 
back to look in her face. “ Death is only like 
going to sleep, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes,” she whispered ; “ for me it will be, in 
God’s great goodness. He knows that I have 
had a troubled life. I shall sink quietly to rest.” 

In a few minutes she breathed in his ear, 
“ Good-bye, do not forget ; I shall wait for you.” 

“ Oh, grandmother, come back ! come back ! ” 
he cried, “ I cannot let you go ! ” 

His grandmother had gone, and when he 
found that she did not smile when he eagerly 
kissed her and that her cheeks were growing 
cold as he smoothed them with his hands, he 
dropped his head on his breast and went for 
Mrs. Jones. 


122 


THE UTTlyE PAGE 


Mrs. Jones did not quite know what to make 
of Stephen. 

“ He’s the quietest boy I ever saw,” she said 
one day when she was talking him over with a 
neighbor ; u just like a mouse about the house. 
I’m afraid he’s grieving for his grandmother.” 

Stephen was grieving for his grandmother. 
Every hour in the day he thought of her, and if 
it had not been for Sir James, he fancied that 
his grief would have killed him. 

When he was up in the House, trotting about 
or sitting gazing at the fine face of the man who 
had been an idol to him, he felt comforted. 

Sir James had no idea that his favorite page 
adored him to the extent that he did, until one 
day when some mention was made of proroguing 
the House. 

The little page turned his eyes on him with a 
kind of terror and his face became desperately 
pale. Almost without knowing what he was 
doing he found himself beside Sir James. 

“ What is it, my lad ? ” asked the premier, as 
courteously as if Stephen were a grand gentle- 
man like himself. 

“ Grandmother is dead,” murmured the little 
page, “and I have no one but you, Sir James. 

If you leave Ottawa I — I ” then he stopped 

and something clicked in his throat. 

“You are Harland’s grandson,” said Sir James 
thoughtfully ; “ would you like to go with me 
down the St. Lawrence to spend the summer ? ” 

The little page could not speak, but his eyes 
gave an answer. 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


123 


Sir James smiled at him, then he went on, for 
he loved children, “ Is there anything else I can 
do for you, my boy? ” 

The little page flushed crimson, “ Please, sir, I 
have everything that I can wish for now.” 

Sir James gazed thoughtfully after him as he 
hurried away.” 

“ Queer boy — very intense,” he said gravely. 

Stephen felt as if he were walking on air. 
“ Oh, if dear grandmother in heaven only knew ! ” 
he said eagerly to himself. “ I will black his 
boots, I will wait on him, I will sleep with one 
ear open so that I can hear him if he calls me.” 

One, two, three days went by, and the little 
page was still in a state of bliss. The month of 
June had come and the weather was delightfully 
warm and sunny. Birds were singing, gardens 
were full of flowers, and it was beginning to get 
very hot and close in the carpeted, cushioned 
chamber where the House of Commons met. 

On the fourth afternoon he was remarking 
with some anxiety that Sir James was late in 
taking his seat when the minister of public 
works sent him to the library for a book. 

The little page hurried back with it and found 
a sudden and strange hush instead of the usual 
whispering, rustling atmosphere of the chamber. 

Some one had moved an adjournment, and 
from floor and galleries the people were going 
out as silently as from a funeral. 

The little page looked at the vacant seat and 
paused aghast. Then he approached one of his 
fellow-pages, “ Is — is it Sir James ? ” 


124 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


“Yes, he’s dangerously ill,” said the boy un- 
der his breath ; “hurrah, we’ve got a holiday ! ” 

Stephen dropped the book that he had 
brought and steadied himself against a desk. 
Everything grew black before his eyes and he 
fainted. 

During the next few days there were no ses- 
sions of Parliament. The city and the whole 
country hung breathlessly on the reports that 
came from the sick-bed of the great statesman. 

Nobody but Mrs. Jones thought or cared any- 
thing about the unhappy little page who spent 
his time trudging from the city down to Sir 
James’ country house so that he could read the 
latest bulletins posted on the gates, and Mrs. 
Jones was too much excited by the anticipation 
of an approaching State funeral to take much 
notice of him. 

Stephen was very quiet — he did not try to 
attract attention. No one knew that of all the 
sad hearts in the city none were so hopelessly 
sad as his ; that of all the relatives assembled in 
the Delorme mansion no one, except the wife of 
the dying man, was as despairing, as utterly 
broken and helpless as he was. 

Still he neither moaned nor cried, not even 
when he sprang up in bed one night awakened 
by the sound that he had dreaded to hear — the 
tolling of the city bells. 

Sir James was dead. 

Stephen did not lie down again in bed, but 
sat almost motionless till daybreak. Then he 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


!25 


got up and put on his page’s livery for he knew 
that there would be work for him to do. The 
next two days were busy ones for him and like a 
boy in a dream he obeyed the orders he received. 
At the close of that time an impressive scene 
took place. 

Stephen sat with the other pages in the strange- 
ly changed and darkened chamber. He would 
never see such a sight again. The galleries 
were thronged with men and women dressed in 
black. Every member of Parliament was in his 
place on the floor of the House. Along the 
front row where the members sat was the vacant 
chair covered with crape and having on the desk 
before it a wreath of white flowers and the 
words, “ Our Chief.” 

Stephen’s face was as pale as the flowers and he 
could not take his eyes from the mournful seat. 

Next it sat a gentleman who was the leader 
of the French party in the House. 

He had been a great friend of Sir James and 
when he rose to say something every one looked 
at him. He held a paper in his hand and he 
wished to ask Parliament to give the dead pre- 
mier a State funeral. 

There was a deep silence in the chamber, but 
the people could not hear his voice. He tried 
to raise it higher, but he could not. He hesi- 
tated, stopped, then stretched out his hand to- 
ward the pages, who sat in a row of little dark 
forms below the Speaker. 

Stephen took the paper from him and carried 
it to the Speaker, who read in a solemn voice 


126 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


what it contained, then sent it to the assistant- 
clerk to repeat in French. 

Some of the people in the gallery were crying, 
and they cried still more when a tall gentleman 
who was the leader of the opposition got up and 
in a polished manner and with a clear, distinct 
voice spoke warmly in praise of the dead man 
with whom he had not agreed and yet whom he 
had admired. 

Stephen could not shed a tear. He looked 
about him in a dull way and wished that he 
could, for his eyes were burning as if they were 
on fire. 

That day and night he could neither eat nor 
sleep. He haunted the buildings on the hill till 
Sir James’ body was carried there and laid in 
the Senate Chamber. 

“ I want a boy to look after these flowers,” 
said a policeman coming into the room where he 
was waiting for the other pages. 

Several of the lads stepped forward, but 
Stephen pushed them aside. 

“ Oh, let me,” he said. 

The policeman stared at him for he was the 
smallest of them all. 

“Why you, rather than a bigger boy?” he 
said. 

“ Because I loved him,” replied the little page. 

“ Come in, then,” said the policeman gruffly, 
and he led the way through long corridors, avoid- 
ing the ones where people stood crowded to- 
gether waiting their turn to get into the Senate 
chamber. 


the eittee page 


127 


The little page started back when they got to 
the threshold, for he did not recognize the room. 
All the red furniture was covered with white, 
there were white coverings on the floor, and the 
walls were festooned in black. 

At one side of the room was a bank of beauti- 
ful flowers, many of them gifts from England 
and far-away parts of Canada, and below these 
flowers and partly surrounded by a guard of sol- 
diers and members of Parliament was the cen- 
tral object in the room. 

The little page gave a great sob when he saw 
the long steel casket. 

“ L,et me look' at him once,” he said to the 
policeman, “then I will come back to you.” 

The policeman nodded and the boy took his 
place in the line of people passing slowly through 
the room. 

There lay Sir James, dressed in a handsome 
uniform, his face white and still on the satin 
pillow. 

One glimpse only the little page had of him, 
then the endless line of spectators behind pushed 
him on. 

All night long and all the next morning the 
constant procession of people through the Senate 
chamber was kept up. The little page moved 
quietly about, sprinkling the bank of flowers 
with water and watching for a chance to do 
something that he thought it was his duty to do. 

In his breast pocket lay the letter addressed 
to Sir James that his grandmother had given to 
him. He felt that it was something sacred and 


128 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


that no other person must ever touch it. That 
letter must be put into the coffin and buried with 
Sir James. 

Just before he was sent away his chance came. 
It was quite late at night — there were not so many 
people going through the chamber — and the sol- 
diers and the gentlemen dressed in mourning 
noticed that Stephen stepped up to the casket, 
but they did not hear him give one heart-broken 
sigh nor did they see him slip a letter in close 
to the cold hand. 

The little page felt that his work was done. 
He went home across the big square that during 
the day had been thronged with people who had 
come to the city to take a last look at the face of 
the man of whom Canada was so proud. The 
square was quiet now, but in the morning the 
people would come back. 

The next day was the worst day for him. 
Sometimes he pinched himself to feel if he were 
really alive, and when the boy at the news-stand 
offered him a tiny black flag for his cap, he looked 
at him in a dazed way without understanding a 
word of what he said. 

Surely this was not the quiet city of Ottawa. 
Everything seemed to be moving to the stately 
pile of the grand parliament buildings. He 
stopped and wearily put his hand to his head. 
What a confusion ! 

It seemed impossible that out of the chaotic 
struggling array of men, women, children, in- 
fantry and cavalry officers, different societies 
and associations and vehicles of all descriptions 


THE EITTEE PAGE 129 

an orderly procession could come, and yet it 
did. 

At one o’clock bells were tolled, minute guns 
fired, the bands began a mournful dead march, 
the dragoon guards filed slowly by ; judges, 
lawyers, civil servants, city councils, and many 
private citizens, all marched solemnly in the di- 
rection of one of the city churches. 

All the pages were in the procession, and 
Stephen trudged along with them the sun pour- 
ing down on his drooping head. 

He did not notice where they were going till 
the puffing of a steam engine caught his atten- 
tion. 

They had left the church and were approach- 
ing a railway station. 

“What is this?” he said rousing himself and 
addressing one of the other pages ; “are we not 
going to the cemetery ? ” 

“ No ; you’re in the clouds,” said the boy 
sharply. “ Don’t you know they are going to 
bury him in the country ? Thank fortune they 
don’t want us.” 

“ In the country? ” gasped Stephen. 

“ Yes, his family burying-place. Whew, I’ll 
be glad to get out of this ; it’s stifling hot ! I 
guess we’re going to have a thunder storm.” 

A few minutes later Stephen was hurrying 
wearily homeward, not listening to the thunder 
rolling in the heavens, nor heeding the rain that 
was drenching him to the skin. 

They had taken Sir James away; what was 
he to do ? 


1 


1 3° 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


Upon reaching Mrs. Jones’ house he went to 
his room and counted the small stock of money 
that he had. He did not know whether it would 
take him to the country or not, but he had made 
up his mind that he must get there in some way 
or other. 

Some hundreds of miles from the city of 
Ottawa is a green and well-kept cemetery. 

There the dead premier was laid to rest and 
for days and weeks afterward the whole country 
flocked to the cemetery to look upon his grave. 

The people did not come at night nor very 
early in the morning, so those were the times 
chosen by L,ady Delorme to visit her husband’s 
grave. 

Just after daylight one July morning she left 
her carriage at the cemetery gates and followed 
by the pitying glance of her coachman walked 
slowly along the path to the new-made grave. 

She quickened her steps on drawing near. 

There, lying on the white lilies with his arms 
thrown lovingly over the grassy mound, was a 
very pale and weary-looking boy who was fast 
asleep. 

Uady Delorme gazed at the worn shoes and the 
dusty clothes, and to her surprise recognized the 
livery of one of the Ottawa pages. How had he 
come there ? 

She knelt down by the grave without speak- 
ing. For a long time she remained there her 
lips moving in prayer, her eyes fixed on the 
motionless boy. 


THE EITTEE PAGE 


131 

Suddenly there was a loud cry, “Sir James, Sir 
James ! ” and the little page started up wildly. 

He seemed confused when he saw L,ady De- 
lorme, but he soon recovered himself and stand- 
ing up made her a bow and waited for her to 
speak to him. 

“ Who are you ? ” she said gently. 

“Iam Stephen Harland, my lady,” he replied. 

“Harland,” she returned, “I remember that 
name.” 

The little page explained to her that he was 
the grandson of a man who had been in the ser- 
vice of Sir James’ father. 

“ And what are you doing here ? ” she went on. 

“ I came to give my heart to God, my lady,” 
said the little page. 

“ I do not understand,” she said with a puz- 
zled face. 

“ Grandmother died,” said the little page wear- 
ily, “ and I could not love God ; then Sir James 
died and I thought I should die too, but I did 
not. I took my money to pay my way here so 
that I could see his grave, but I had not enough. 
I had to walk some of the way, then I got ill.” 

“ Poor child,” said the lady compassionately. 

“ But I found friends, my lady,” said the little 
page, “ and they nursed me and gave me money 
to come here, and I am glad I can go back to 
them if I wish. I think though that I will re- 
turn to Ottawa where grandmother is buried. 
Perhaps if I say over her grave that I love God 
now and am willing to be his little servant she 
will know it.” 


132 


THE TITTLE PAGE 


“ There is no one on the earth that can help 
us,” said the lady with a burst of tears ; “ only 
God can heal our broken hearts.” 

“ Yes, my lady,” said the little page respect- 
fully. 

Lady Delorme composed herself. “You look 
tired ; go to my coachman — no, stay, I will go 
with you. If Sir James were here he would say 
that you must be taken care of. Oh, his gen- 
erous heart,” and she began sobbing again, “ he 
loved every one — every one loved him.” 

The little page never left Lady Delorme. 

If you go now to a beautiful country house 
near the green cemetery, you will find waiting on 
her and loving her for her own as well as her 
husband’s sake the little page who will soon be- 
come a man. 














































































































































•‘She took up the sparkling things.” 

Page 147. 



V 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 


excellency the Earl of Linscombe, the 
I IfeL Governor-general of Canada, was making 
4 ®)| what the newspapers called a vice-regal 
iKY/ progress through the Dominion, which 
he ruled as representative of her majesty 
the Queen of England. That is, he was going 
from town to town accompanied by his wife — a 
noble lady who was also much beloved by the 
people of Canada — and a small suite, and he 
was being welcomed and feted, and public meet- 
ings and receptions in his honor were being held 
till it was really a wonder that his strength and 
powers of endurance did not give out. 

In the course of their progress the vice-regal 
party came to a town situated on the banks of a 
river that winds through vividly green meadows 
in the province of New Brunswick. 

On the evening of their arrival there had been 
a band of music at the station to greet them. A 
torchlight procession and a number of people in 
carriages escorted them to the villa set apart for 
their residence while they were in the town. 

The next day there were addresses of wel- 
come, a State dinner, and an exhibition of fire- 

133 


134 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

works, and on the following day their two inde- 
fatigable excellencies were supposed to visit the 
various public institutions of the town, which 
were all thrown open for their inspection. 

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Lady 
Linscombe was just about to go to her room for 
a short period of well-earned rest, when her 
maid brought her a message from one of her 
husband’s aides-de-camp. 

The insane asylum had not been visited — a 
note had just come from the superintendent — 
their excellencies had been expected early in the 
morning ; was he not to have the pleasure of 
conducting them through the institution over 
which he had the honor to preside ? 

Lady Linscombe wrinkled her eyebrows 
slightly and smiled to herself. Then she said 
gently : “ We must not neglect any one. Tow- 
ers,” turning to her maid, “ tell Captain Dysart 
that I will go. It will be too late if we wait 
until his excellency returns.” 

An hour later Lady Linscombe was leaning 
back against the cushions of her carriage. The 
asylum had been visited and approved of ; all 
its appointments were orderly and worthy of 
praise, and with a comfortable sense of having 
performed her duty, her excellency listened to 
an entertaining story that Captain Dysart, who 
sat opposite her, was relating. 

Suddenly the coachman pulled up the horses. 
They had come to a street crossing, and there 
stood a tiny maid holding up an apron full of 
flowers and imperiously calling, “ Stop ! ” 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 1 35 

Captain Dysart turned quickly. “What a 
beautiful child ! ” he exclaimed. 

She was indeed a little beauty. She had 
black eyes, black curly hair, rounded, soft dark 
cheeks, and exquisitely shaped hands and feet. 

“ A veritable gipsy,” said Lady Linscombe. 
“ What do you wish, my child ? ” she added 
softly. 

“To give you dese, ex’el’cy,” said the little 
girl, opening her apron and displaying a number 
of crimson roses. “ I picked ’em mesef ; will 
you let me into your booful carriage ? ” 

She put her head on one side ; nothing could 
exceed the roguishness and entreaty of her 
glances till the sound of a cough made her turn 
her head and espy a tall policeman sauntering 
across the street toward her. 

“ Oh, go ’way, go ’way ! ” she cried wildly, 
yet laughing at the same time. “ Bad man, you 
are everywhere. I shall not go home,” and hold- 
ing her flowers tightly to her bosom, she clung 
to the carriage step. 

The newcomer suppressed a laugh, and raising 
his hand to his helmet, waited to be addressed. 

“ Who is this child ? ” asked Captain Dysart, 
looking at the little girl. 

“ She’s the worst little girl in the town, sir. 
We call her the ‘runaway,’ because she never 
stays at home.” 

“Are her parents living?” asked the gentle- 
man. 

“ Her mother is dead, sir, and her father is an 
officer in the army out in India. He sent this 


136 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

little girl home awhile ago on account of the 
climate. She’s got an aunt here, a nice lady 
who keeps a school ; but do her best, she can’t 
keep the child indoors. She’s crazy about the 
water, as they say Indian children often are ; 
she’s down by the river and into the ponds all 
day long, and always with that dabble of wet 
down the front of her little ‘pinny.’ ” 

“ And she does not like you because you take 
her home? ” 

“ That’s it, sir.” 

“ Is it safe to have her wander about alone ? ” 
asked Lady Linscombe. 

“ Your excellency,” said the policeman, touch- 
ing his helmet again, “ nothing could happen to 
her in this quiet place ; everybody knows her. 
Then after she gets over the novelty of the 
thing, I expect she’ll settle down.” 

“ Let me in, ex’el’cy,” pleaded the child, still 
clinging to the carriage ; “I hate that bad 
man.” 

The policeman shook his head at her. “You 
don’t hate any one, Miss Runaway, it isn’t in 
you ; you’ve learned to tell stories out there 
among those Hindus. Come, now, go home to 
your aunt. You wouldn’t think, your excel- 
lency,” he said, turning to the carriage, “ to look 
at this nice little girl that she’s been tied up 
similar to a little dog ; but she’ll bite and scratch 
and gnaw ropes, and even burrow underground 
to run away.” 

“ Let me in, dear ex’el’cy,” begged the little 
one, her curly head on one side, her eloquent 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 137 

dark eyes fixed coaxingly on the bright blue 
ones so earnestly surveying her. 

Lady Linscombe glanced at Captain Dysart, 
and turning the handle of the carriage door he 
assisted the child in, who nestled on the seat 
close to her excellency’s graceful figure. 

“I saw you in the march last night,” mur- 
mured the little girl, caressing the tailor-made 
gown with soft fingers. “ There was red fire all 
round you, and you looked boofuller than 
angels.” 

Lady Linscombe took the child on her lap. 
She was exquisitely neat and clean except a few 
flower stains on her tiny brown hands and, as the 
policeman had said, a dabble of wet down the 
front of her embroidered muslin frock. 

“ I beg your excellency’s pardon,” said the 
policeman, coming a little nearer, “ but I must 
ask her if she stole those roses. There’s been 
complaints lodged against her. Did you, miss ? 
I saw some just like them in the mayor’s garden.” 

“ I was goin’ to be a naughty thief,” said the 
child, biting her red lips which hid two rows of 
pearly teeth, “ then Mr. Mayor he said he would 
not put me in prison, and he picked ’em hisself,” 
and she burst into a triumphant laugh. 

“And that was pretty good of Mr. Mayor,” 
growled the policeman, “ considerin’ it was only 
a week ago that you got into his house and set 
all his faucets running, which would have 
drenched his furniture and carpets if it hadn’t 
been discovered.” 

The child turned her back on him and said : 


138 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

“Away over the water in my papa’s country I 
knew an ex’el’cy and she took me home in her 
booful carriage.” 

Lady Linscombe smiled and requested Captain 
Dysart to get the child’s address. 

“Six Cypress Street, sir,” said the policeman. 
“ Mrs. Leigh is her aunt’s name.” 

The little girl threw a rose at him as the car- 
riage rolled away, while Lady Linscombe bowed 
graciously. 

“ She’s a real lady and no make-believe,” he 
muttered, looking admiringly after her excel- 
lency. “ It’s only the high-up ones that know 
how to treat folks that have not much money. 
These upstarts, I hate ’em,” and he curled his 
lip as he strode away. 

Lady Linscombe and Captain Dysart were 
looking with much interest at the dark-haired, 
vivacious child who was prattling to them of 
India, which something in their appearance and 
surroundings had recalled to her. 

“ What is your name, little one ? ” asked Lady 
Linscombe. 

“ Beatrice Maude,” said the child ; “but most 
gen’ly I’m called Gipsy — naughty Gipsy Leigh. 
I runned away this morning and I fink Aunt Dora 
will be in a stew about me.” 

“Where have you been all day?” asked the 
gentleman. 

“Up to the cem’tery pouring water on the 
lubly violets on my dear ayah’s grave. She did 
not like these cold skies and cried and shivered 
and went up to live with God ; then I played by 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 1 39 

the river with some little black chillen and then 
was getting my dinner at the hotel.” 

“ How do you, ah — go about it — that is, dining 
at the hotel at your tender age ? ” asked Captain 
Dysart, smiling broadly at her. 

“ Don’t you know,” said Gipsy benevolently, 
u a big man like you? You walks in and takes 
a seat, then you bows your head and says grace 
and the waiter pushes your chair in and says, 
4 What is your order, miss ? ’ and then you say 
bread and milk and potato and gravy and some 
fruit. Then he tucks a napkin under your chin 
and you eats all you can.” 

“But you have forgotten the most important 
part,” said Captain Dysart gravely. 

Gipsy opened her eyes very wide and asked 
him what he meant. 

“ How do you pay your bill ? ” 

Gipsy laughed long and merrily. “ Put out 
your hand, Mr. Gen’leman ; take off your glove.” 

He obeyed her and pulling a long-stemmed but- 
tercup from her dress she held it over her palm. 
“ See that yellow mark, that’s gold. Daisies is 
silver; when I don’t have no flowers I runs 
away.” 

Dady Ldnscombe sighed gently as she glanced 
across at her escort. “ What a strange life for a 
child ! She should not be allowed to lead it.” 

“Then I was looking for you, ex’el’cy,” re- 
marked Gipsy, carrying one of the gloved hands 
caressingly to her lips. 

They had arrived before a small ivy-covered 
cottage where a slender woman with a laughing 


140 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

face like Gipsy’s and a widow’s gown on came 
hurrying to the gate and somewhat nervously 
surveyed the grand carriage. 

“We have brought your niece home,” said 
Lady Linscombe in response to her embarrassed 
apologies ; “it has been a pleasure, I assure you. 
Now my little one we must part.” 

Gipsy sat back and shook her head seriously, 
“ Some little girls scream,” she said, “ when you 
makes ’em do things they doesn’t want to ; they 
scream louder than the siren whistles on the 
river boats.” 

The footman standing with his hand on the 
carriage door turned his head aside and glanced 
up enviously at the coachman who, having his 
back to his mistress, was enabled to smile and 
even indulge in a faint chuckle unobserved. 

I know they can,” said Lady Linscombe 
kindly ; “ but you will be a good child Gipsy and 
not do so.” 

“I like to be a bad child, ex’el’cy,” said the 
little girl settling herself back in a corner, “ you 
has more fun and ” — knitting her pretty brows 
at Captain Dysart and the footman — “ if any man 
lifts me out of this booful carriage I know I shall 
scream.” 

“ Do come, Gipsy,” said her aunt extending 
her hands. “ I have some delicious cakes for 
your tea.” 

“ Aunt Dora,” said the child leaning forward 
for an instant, “ go way ; I haven’t much ’pinion 
of you. Her ex’el’cy is like India and my dear 
papa and I’m going to live with her.” 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 141 

The hands were promptly withdrawn. Here 
was a very naughty child, and Lady Linscombe 
looked helplessly at her. 

At last a plan suggested itself. “ If you go 
into the house without screaming you may come 
and see me to-morrow,” she said. 

“ All yite, ex’el’cy,” and with unexpected haste 
the child tumbled out of the carriage and rushed 
into the cottage as if fearful that her good re- 
solve might leave her. 

“ A case of love at first sight,” murmured Cap- 
tain Dysart as they turned homeward. “ I hope 
that the little girl may not take advantage of 
your excellency’s well-known love for children 
and victimize you. 

During the remainder of Lady Linscombe’s 
stay in the picturesque city by the beautiful Ca- 
nadian river, Captain Dysart had reason to fear 
many times that little Gipsy Leigh was taking 
advantage of the devotion to children that was 
one of the striking characteristics of the noble 
lady with whom she was so greatly taken. 

The child gave up her wanderings about the 
town, and morning, noon, and night was to be 
found at the villa gates begging the lodge-keeper 
to let her in to see her dear ex’el’cy. One day 
when she was refused admittance she did as the 
policeman said she would do, she burrowed 
under the picket fence to emerge triumphantly 
and prosecute a successful search for Lady Lins- 
combe, which brought her into a drawing room 
full of dignified people, where she looked like a 


142 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 


little dirty white rabbit as she dropped on a foot- 
stool beside her astonished excellency. 

It was a complete case of infatuation, the 
townspeople said, and they sincerely hoped that 
the good influence that her excellency was gra- 
ciously exerting would have a reforming effect 
upon one of the most troublesome children that 
ever lived. 

The endeavor was greatly helped by an ac- 
cident that befell Lord Linscombe which de- 
tained the vice-regal party a much longer time 
than had been expected. He sprained his ankle 
one day in getting from his carriage and for some 
weeks he was forbidden to move about, so that 
traveling was out of the question. When Gipsy 
understood the significance of the affair she 
wickedly said that she was glad. 

Day after day she visited the villa, and Lady 
Linscombe, who could not help being touched by 
the child’s devotion and who really took a warm 
interest in her, instructed her servants, with 
whom the child necessarily spent a great deal of 
her time, to talk wisely to her and to try to im- 
plant useful lessons in her lawless little breast. 

One afternoon while Lady Linscombe was oc- 
cupied with a visiting delegation of ladies from 
some society, her maid Towers was alternately 
giving Gipsy a reading lesson and listening to 
her babble about India. 

Towers was a good-natured looking woman 
who had been with Lady Linscombe but a short 
time, having taken the place of a valued maid 
who had suddenly fallen ill. In some respects 


HER EXCELLENCY'S JEWELS 1 43 

she was rather an unsatisfactory servant, but 
Lady Linscombe had kindly and patiently 
pointed out some of her faults to her and Towers 
was apparently trying to do better. 

Gipsy was very fond of Towers, and on this 
day after closing her book she said, “ Tell me a 
story about the time when you were a little 
girl.” 

Towers told her a long tale about a pleasant 
childhood spent in a cottage by the sea. 

“ Have you any little brothers and sisters 
now?” asked Gipsy. 

“ No,” said Towers sadly, “they are all dead.” 

“ And no little girls and no little boys ? ” asked 
Gipsy. 

“No ; only a husband.” 

“ Where is your husband ? ” said Gipsy. 

“ Oh, he is somewhere,” said Towers eva- 
sively. 

“ Why don’t you live with him ? ” urged the 
little girl. 

Towers caught her breath. “Oh, I hope to 
some day when we have money enough.” 

“ Are you very poor ? ” 

Towers laughed bitterly. “Yes, Miss Gipsy. 
Poor folks can’t live on air, and it takes money 
to keep men going, it takes money. Women 
can manage ” and she fell into a reverie. 

“ Show me his picture, please,” said Gipsy. 

Towers started. “ Oh, I cannot, I cannot.” 

Something in her manner struck the little 
girl. “I know it already,” she said; “it is the 
picture of that black, black man you kiss.” 


144 her excellency’s jewels 

Towers shrugged her shoulders and laughed 
resignedly. “ Well, if you know it already, 
there’s no harm in showing you,” she said, and 
she drew it from the bosom of her dress ; “ but, 
Miss Gipsy, he isn’t black — he’s not so dark as 
you are. It’s the photographer that has made 
him look so.” 

“ I don’t like him, he is cross,” said Gipsy, 
pushing the picture aside. “ Put him away.” 

“He is not cross,” said Towers ; “he is the 
kindest man in the world.” 

“ I’m tired,” ejaculated Gipsy, throwing down 
her book, “ and I forgot to feed my pussy-cat, 
and I’m going home. Tell her dear ex’el’cy 
good-bye for me.” 

Slowly, and yawning sleepily, for it was a 
very warm day, the child went down the front 
staircase, peeping curiously between the railings 
into a white and gold room where the French 
windows stood open and there was a glitter of 
pretty draperies and handsome dresses. She 
wished very much to go in, but she did not dare 
do so, for she had been plainly told that if she 
did not observe the rules of this house she would 
not be allowed to visit it. 

“ Dear ex’el’cy,” she murmured, “ Gipsy likes 
you better than the flowers ; oh, oh, I am hotter 
than I ever was in my life.” She paused before 
a glass in the hall. Her curly, black hair was 
lying in wet rings on her forehead, and the neck 
of her little gown was damp. 

Dragging her tiny feet along, she entered a 
small park near the house. The avenue wound 


HER EXCELLENCES JEWELS 


145 


through it to the gateway, but Gipsy did not go 
so far as that. She strayed aside from the gravel 
road to pick a lily and sat down to arrange it in 
the ribbon of her broad-rimmed hat, then rolling 
over on the grass under the spreading branches 
of a thorn, she fell fast asleep. 

That evening there was to be a reception held 
in a country house some miles up the river. 
Eord and Eady Einscombe owing to their official 
position did not attend any form of entertain- 
ment given by a private individual, but in this 
case an exception was made as the people giving 
the reception were members of a noble English 
family closely connected with that of the Earls 
of Einscombe. 

So their excellencies were going, and as the 
long summer twilight closed in the men up at 
the stable were busy preparing the carriages, the 
cook in the kitchen and the tablemaids were oc- 
cupied in serving dinner to -a vice-regal house- 
hold assembled in the dining room, and the halls, 
the drawing room, and the library in the front of 
the house were as quiet and apparently as de- 
serted as the park outside. 

Up in Eady Einscombe’s dressing room, over 
the front hall, her maid, Towers, was moving 
about with a curious expression on her face. She 
was very pale, till noticing the appearance of her 
cheeks in a glass, she rubbed something on them 
to make them red. But she could do nothing to 
change the expression of her eyes, and not lik- 
ing to look at herself, she turned away from her 

K 


146 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

reflection and busied herself with laying out an 
evening gown for her mistress and selecting a 
pair of gloves to go with it. Then she took a 
key from her pocket and went to a large box 
that stood in a corner of the room. It had a 
very intricate lock, and Towers was some time 
in opening it. Finally the fastenings yielded, 
and lifting the lid, she drew out several small 
cases. These she laid on the table, and pressing 
the springs drew out magnificent glittering dia- 
monds in bracelets, rings, earrings, and a neck- 
lace. Her hand shook while she arranged them 
— she bit her lip nervously, made a few steps 
toward the window, turned back again, but 
finally decided what she would do. She placed 
a signal in the window by throwing out the ends 
of two long lace curtains ; then she stepped into 
the hall, listened carefully, and finding every- 
thing still, went rapidly toward the kitchen, 
where she engaged in an interrupted, but seem- 
ingly cheerful gossip with the cook. 

In the meantime Gipsy woke up. Just about 
the same time that Towers left the dressing room 
she scrambled to her feet, looked sleepily about 
her, then recognizing where she was, for she was 
used to waking up in all kinds of unexpected 
places, said : “ I’m hungry ; p’rhaps ex’el’cy will 
give me something to eat before I go home.” 

She started to run toward the house at full 
speed. A little, dark, slight man who had been 
standing behind an elm, drew back when he saw 
her and frowned savagely. He was the man to 
whom Towers had been signaling, and he was 


147 


HER EXCEEEENCY’S JEWESS 

in a hurry to get into the house and out again 
before their excellencies had finished dining. 

Gipsy trotted in through the hall and paused 
as she heard the sound of voices and the tinkling 
of china and silver in the dining room. She 
was gradually learning the proprieties of life and 
knew that she must not interrupt a dinner party. 
Yet she was hungry. It suddenly came to her 
mind that she had dropped some cherries behind 
a sofa in L,ady Linscombe’s dressing room. There 
were not very many, but still they would be bet- 
ter than nothing, and perhaps she would find 
Towers, who would get her something to eat. 

She hurried upstairs, but on entering the 
dressing room stopped short with a cry of de- 
light. What dazzling things were those ! They 
were far brighter than the most beautiful glass 
beads that she had ever seen. She ran up to the 
dressing table and clasped the diamonds eagerly, 
then murmuring and laughing to herself, she 
took up the sparkling things, handled them 
caressingly, and finally clasped the necklace 
around her little dark throat, hung the bracelets 
over her arms, slipped her fingers through the 
rings, and even hooked the earrings in her black 
curls. 

However, attractive as they were, the dia- 
monds did not satisfy her hunger, and she turned 
from the glass where she had been surveying 
herself in deep admiration, and dropping on her 
hands and knees, crept behind the sofa. 

The cherries were there, two dozen and more, 
scattered over the floor, and one by one she 


148 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 


picked them up, polished them on her white 
dress, and ate them, nibbling every particle of 
the luscious fruit from the stones with her little 
sharp teeth, occasionally stopping to push up the 
bracelets that kept dropping down over her 
wrists and got in her way. 

While she sat there as quiet as a mouse and 
quite invisible to any one entering the room, the 
dark, slight man glided in from the park, slipped 
up the front stairs and came in where she was. 
The first thing that his eyes fell on was the 
array of empty jewel cases. 

He stared increduously, then looked at the pre- 
concerted signal — the lace curtains hanging from 
the window — looked back at the boxes again, 
and with a stealthy step, went all around the 
room, opening drawers, lifting the lids of boxes, 
till at last approaching the big one in the corner 
he raised its cover and took out the small one. 

While he was engaged in examining this, a 
faint noise made him start. He glanced toward 
the sofa in the corner of the room, then went to 
it and looked over the back. He could scarcely 
believe the evidence of his eyesight. There sat 
a little girl arrayed in the jewels that he had come 
to steal. She had them all on, every one. 

He made an astonished gesture, leaned over 
toward her, and the next instant Gipsy would 
have been rapidly stripped of her excellency’s 
jewels if she had not caught sight of him and 
looked up with a cheerful “ How d’ye do, Towers’ 
husband ? ” 

The man was a very composed person ; he 


HER EXCELLENCY'S JEWELS 1 49 

had only been taken aback once or twice in his 
life, and this was one of the occasions. 

“Towers’ husband,” he muttered, “you lit- 
tle ,” and he called Gipsy a very bad name. 

“ How do you know who I am?” 

Gipsy was not at all afraid of him. She had 
met many strangers in the course of her life and 
unfortunately she was accustomed to being 
scolded, for she had been at times a very naughty 
girl, so she replied quite calmly : “You looks like 
your picture, only worse. I am glad I am not 
your little girl. Go get me something to eat, 
won’t you ? I’m ’most starving,” and going down 
on her hands and knees again, she crept under 
the sofa and emerged beside him. 

“Where did you get these?” he asked, 
touching with trembling finger the jewels that 
hung around the child’s neck. 

“ I fink they’re exel’cy’s,” said Gipsy. “ Go 
’way bad man. I hate you to touch me,” and 
shrugging her shoulders she turned her back on 
him. “Send Towers to me.” 

The man did not go away, but stood over her. 
Luckily for the child she did not know his des- 
perate condition of mind. He was thinking 
over a number of plans. For weeks he had 
been waiting for a chance to steal Lady Lins- 
combe’s valuable jewels. 

For many a weary mile he had followed the 
vice-regal party. Here in this favorable place 
a plot had been arranged between him and his 
too yielding wife. She was to lay out the dia- 
monds, then disregarding her mistress’ order, 


150 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

which was that she was never to leave them un- 
guarded, she was to go down to the kitchen 
while her husband was to steal in from the park, 
seize the jewels, and run away with them to a 
hiding-place in a forest beyond the city. 

There he could remain till all danger of dis- 
covery was over, then he would make his way 
to some large city where he could sell the dia- 
monds and be joined by his wife. 

This was his wicked plan. He had not 
thought of the sin of robbing Lady Linscombe, 
who had been so kind to his wife, he had thought 
only of getting some money for himself. 

Now he was thwarted by a child. Owing to 
her extraordinary recognition of him, if he took 
the jewels from her his wife would be ruined, for 
the child would say, “ Towers’ husband stole the 
diamonds,” and he would probably be traced and 
arrested ; and he had fancied that not a soul in 
the place would recognize him. 

It was maddening, and he ground his teeth at 
Gipsy, who was frowning impatiently at him. 

“Towers,” called the child suddenly, lifting 
up her shrill little voice, “ Towers, Towers.” 

In the still evening air her voice carried all 
over the house. Towers in the kitchen down 
below ran up a back stairway like a deer, while 
Lady Linscombe sent a tablemaid in great haste 
to know what was the matter with the child. 

Towers’ husband immediately took his part. 
He knew that it would not do for him to run 
away — that would be sure to draw suspicion on 
him ; he would stay and greet his wife as natu- 


her excellency’s JEWELS 1 51 

rally as he could and as if he had come only for 
the purpose of seeing her. Yet he ought not to 
be found in L,ady Linscombe’s dressing room, so 
he stepped out into the hall. 

Towers, breathless and confused, stopped short 
when she saw him, but soon threw herself on 
his neck. In a few hurried syllables he told her 
what had happened, then he melted away like a 
shadow in the direction of the park. 

Gipsy stood staring at them and peevishly 
submitted to be stripped of the jewels which 
Towers dropped hastily into their cases as if 
they burnt her. 

“You darling child,” said the woman kissing 
her pretty hands. “You darling, darling child.” 

“ I was cross to your husband,” said Gipsy in 
mild surprise. “ I don’t like him.” 

“ Never mind, pet,” said Towers, “ he means 
well, but it’s hard for some people to be good. 
Go to the pantry, sweetheart, and Mary will give 
you some bread and milk.” 

“ God bless the little child,” she sobbed, throw- 
ing herself on her knees as Gipsy left the room. 
“ I thank heaven that she was sent here.” And 
Towers throwing her arm around the diamonds 
fainted dead away. 

“ Ex’el’cy,” asked Gipsy as she was about to 
be sent home that evening, “ do men ever wear 
pretty stones like yours? ” 

“No, they do not,” said L,ady kinscombe, 
“ but they buy them for their wives and daugh- 
ters.” 


152 HER EXCELLENCES JEWELS 

“I fink Towers’ husband wants some like 
yours for Towers,” said the child innocently, 
“’cause he looked as if he loved them.” 

Eady Eiuscombe said nothing, but her face, as 
she got into her carriage and drove away, was a 
very thoughtful one. 

She was thinking over her maid’s agitation as 
she dressed her — her flushed cheeks, her red 
eyes, and the trembling of her hands. 

She was still thinking of her when she en- 
tered the reception room, and her sweet serious- 
ness of manner made her seem more charming 
than ever. Everybody said how very beautiful 
her excellency was that evening. There was no 
one present who could vie with her for distinc- 
tion and elegance ; but her face still wore the 
same thoughtful expression and Eord Eins- 
combe kept anxiously watching her. 

At last he seized a moment when they were 
standing near each other to say, “You are not 
feeling well this evening, Adelaide.” 

“It is these diamonds,” she said, holding up 
her head as if to avoid the sight of them. 
“ They oppress me.” 

Lord Einscombe glanced at the stones spar- 
kling on her neck and arms, and asked, “ Why do 
you make so disturbing a remark ? ” 

“ There were tears on my necklace this even- 
ing, Gerald,” she said, “ a woman’s tears ; I 
cannot wear them again. You know that I have 
little love for precious stones. Will you not 
send them to the banker’s ? Suppose some poor 
weak man or woman should steal them and be 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 1 53 

sent to prison. It would cause me intense un- 
happiness.” 

“ I know it would,” said his excellency hastily. 
“ I shall send them away ; they are not worth a 
sigh from you. Now will you become yourself 
again ? ” 

Lady Linscombe smiled lovingly at him and 
they separated. 

When they were on their way home that 
night driving under the wide-spreading branches 
of the forest trees extended over the quiet road, 
Lady Linscombe said to her husband : “Do you 
think that you could have some employment 
found for the husband of my maid, who has 
come to visit her and who has nothing to do ? ” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it,” was the reply. 
“ What can he do ? ” 

“ He has been a valet ; but Towers says he 
will do anything. She wishes him to give up 
the roving life he has been leading.” 

“ I will have him looked after at once,” said 
his excellency ; “ but are you not discouraged ? 
You know a good many of your protkgks do not 
turn out well.” 

“ I know it ; but some of them do, and nothing 
excuses us from our duty. We must extend a 
helping hand to every feeble brother or sister, 
or we shall not have the approval of our own 
consciences or the blessing of God — but you 
understand this better than I do and act upon it 
more faithfully.” 

“ No, no; not more faithfully,” said his excel- 
lency ; “ but I am thankful every day of my life 


154 her excellency’s jewels 

that we both understand that there is no happi- 
ness in this world except as one acknowledges 
the privilege of rendering loving service to all. 
By the way, what arrangement have you made 
about your other firotegke. the little girl you 
call Gipsy ? ” 

“ I am going to have a farewell talk with her 
to-morrow ” said Lady Linscombe. “ She does 
not know that we are to leave here in two days. 
However, she has already promised me that she 
will tell no more falsehoods, that she will keep 
away from the river, and that she will attend her 
aunt’s school with other little girls.” 

“ Do you think she will keep her promise ? ” 

“I think so, for she has a great desire to visit 
me some day, and I told her that unless she 
fulfills these conditions she cannot come.” 

“ She will probably do as you wish,” said Lord 
Linscombe ; “ you have a marvelous influence 
over children.” 

Lady Linscombe did not reply to him and 
they drove silently home. 

Two days later the whole town assembled on 
the bank of the river to see their excellencies 
leave. It seemed to the citizens that they were 
losing dear friends — Lord and Lady Linscombe 
had been so kind, so interested in the people of 
the town, in their industries and charities, and, 
best of all, they had been so attentive to the 
poor and suffering ones. 

Gipsy stood beside her aunt, tightly holding 
her hand. She had made up her mind not to 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 


155 


cry, and she bravely waved her handkerchief as 
the carriage containing their excellencies and 
their suite drove down to the wharf, but when 
the band struck up “ God Save the Queen,” she 
broke down. 

“ I can’t let you go, ex’el’cy,” she cried, and 
breaking away from her aunt she dashed under 
horses’ heads and between groups of people 
who surveyed her with astonished faces till pres- 
ently she arrived on the steamer’s deck where 
Lady Linscombe stood holding a bouquet while 
she bowed and smiled to the crowds on shore. 

Lord Linscombe looked pityingly on the 
child, but Lady Linscombe knew it would be 
unwise to sympathize too deeply with her, so 
she said quietly : “ Ah, good-bye again, dear little 
Gipsy ; you have come to tell me once more that 
you will keep your promises.” 

“ Yes — yes,” said Gipsy confusedly. 

“Will you have some of my flowers?” said 
her excellency, putting a few lovely lilies in the 
child’s hand, “ and write me a little letter to- 
morrow. Don’t forget that we are to see each 
other very soon.” 

“ I want to go with you now,” said Gipsy 
brokenly ; “ don’t send me back, ex’el’cy, don’t 
send me back ! ” yet all the time she was slowly 
retreating toward the gangway. 

Captain Dysart took her hand, for he was 
afraid that she would fall overboard. 

“ Oh, dear,” gasped Gipsy, “ this is tellible sad ; 
don’t let my dear ex’el’cy forget this little girl, 
Cap’en.” 


156 HER excellency’s jewels 

“You need not fear,” said Captain Dysart; 
“ her excellency never forgets. I heard her 
instructing Miss Gillespie to write you to- 
morrow.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” said Gipsy breathlessly. 
“ Let go my arm, please, I am going to run 
away and hide ; ” and partly covering her face 
with her hand she turned her back on the crowd 
and hurried from the wharf to her aunt’s cot- 
tage where she hid herself in a closet. 

Gipsy did keep her promises, though with 
some failures at first. 

It was hard work for her to give up telling 
stories ; many times a day she had to run to her 
room and look at the little illuminated text on 
the wall that Lady Linscombe had given to her, 
“ Thou God Seest Me.” And she had to fall in 
the river and nearly drown before she could 
learn to keep away from it. However, she 
attended school regularly and listened to her 
aunt’s teaching, and before many months had 
gone by Gipsy Leigh was a much better child 
than she had been. 

Then she had her visit to Lady Linscombe ; 
not only one, but successive ones ; and in look- 
ing forward to them Gipsy was the happiest little 
girl in New Brunswick. 

She says that she wishes to live with her 
beloved patron when she grows up, but Gipsy’s 
father will probably wish her to go to India to 
be his little housekeeper. 

Whether Lady Linscombe really knew the 


HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 1 5 7 

truth or not about the attempted robbery of her 
diamonds, no one found out for a long time. 
She was a very clever woman, but better than 
that she was very charitable, one who tried to 
love her neighbor as herself, and she probably 
did not think it right to communicate her suspi- 
cions of Towers’ husband to any one. 

However she watched him carefully, and to 
her great joy saw that he took pleasure in lead- 
ing an honest life, and was not contented till he 
had earned enough money to rent a small house 
where he could have his faithful wife with him. 

When they were at last settled in their little 
home Towers could keep her secret no longer. 
She went to Lady Linscombe and confessed how 
wicked they had both been in attempting to rob 
her, and how wrong in not asking pardon before. 

“ I suspected you,” said Lady Linscombe 
quietly, “ but I forgive you, for I see that you 
have repented. You have sinned against your- 
selves and against our Father in heaven more 
deeply than you have sinned against me. Have 
you asked God to forgive you ? ” 

“ No,” said Towers, “ we have not.” 

“ Will you do so? ” asked Lady Linscombe. 

“We will, we will,” said Towers, breaking 
down and sobbing. “ I remember the words in 
the Bible, ‘ Father, I have sinned against heaven 
and in thy sight.’ I will beg my dear husband 
to say them with me.” 

“ For this thy brother was dead,” said her 
excellency in a low voice, “ and is alive again, 
and was lost and is found.” 


158 HER EXCELLENCY’S JEWELS 

Towers went away and Lady Linscombe 
picked up a letter that she had been reading. 

“ I ask God to let you live a long, long, long 
time, dear ex’el’cy,” wrote Gipsy, “ till your hair 
is quite, quite gray, and you sit in a chair and 
have to let little girls wait on you, ’cause I love 
you, and ’cause you are good.” 

Her excellency put the letter in her desk and 
went away smiling and murmuring to herself, 
“ Diamonds are a snare and a temptation to 
many — men will sell themselves for gold ; faith- 
ful hearts are the best jewels in the world.” 





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♦: 
























































“They were shocked to see him lying there so still.’ 


VI 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 


CK, the minister’s dog, was ill, and there 
was mourning in the village of White- 
waters. 

“I never thought I’d feel so bad about 
a dog,” said old Mrs. Gravy, as she held 
her apron to her eyes ; “ and such a bad dog 
too.” 

There was no doubt about it, Jack was a bad 
dog ; that is, he was a mischievous dog ; but he 
was so bright and so sweet-tempered, and often 
so sorry for naughty things that he had done, 
that no one really held a grudge against him. 

Well, he was ill, and every one was sorry. 

“I’ll never forget how kind he was to Joe,” 
went on poor Mrs. Gravy, whose son had lately 
died. “When Joe was sick, it seemed as if that 
dog knew he couldn’t get well, for he’d come so 
softly to the door every day and scratch for me 
to let him in to lie on Joe’s bed.” 

“ And he didn’t run off with your dishcloths, 
nor chew up your cap strings till after the fu- 
neral, did he ? ” said another old lady, called Mrs. 
Smith, who lived in the cottage next to Mrs. 
Gravy’s. 



159 


l6o JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

“No; but in a few days he was as bad as 
ever, the young plague,” said Mrs. Gravy drying 
her eyes. “ He teased me that bad that I went 
to the minister, and what do you think he found 
in his bed ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mrs. Smith. 

“Two pairs of spectacles,” said Mrs. Gravy, 
counting on her fingers, 44 four rubber balls, two 
sunbonnets, a pair of braces, a ball of twine, a 
lot of bones and rubbish, Mamie Lou Morrison’s 
Sunday gloves, three of my towels, and my lace 
cap.” 

44 Oh, the bad dog ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Smith. 
44 What did the minister say ? ” 

44 He picked out his best pair of tortoise-shell 
specs and put them in his pocket, then he called 
the dog.” 

“ Did he come?” 

44 Oh, yes, bold as you please, tossing his head 
as much as to say, ‘What’s wanted?’ ” 

“What did the minister do?” 

“He pointed to the box and said, ‘Jack, go 
and get a switch.’ ” 

“ He never did, surely ? ” 

“ Yes ; the dog’s no sneak, Mrs. Smith, you 
know that. When he came back, walking so 
slow and dropping the switch to jump up on a 
chair and hide his eyes, I said, ‘ Minister, don’t 
you whip that dog.’ ” 

“ But he deserved it,” said Mrs. Smith 
warmly. 

“ Yes ; but my — my, if you could have seen his 
eyes and heard him cry so soft and touching. I 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG l6l 

scolded him, and the minister scolded him, and 
it hurt him as much as a whipping would have 
done. He’s only a baby, you know. You can’t 
expect a dog a year old to act like an old grand- 
father.” 

“ What did you do with the things ? ” asked 
Mrs. Smith. 

“ I took mine, and Jack carried the rest home. 
He knew just as well as we did where they be- 
longed. You should have seen him trotting in 
and out taking the articles to the different houses 
as the minister handed them to him. When he 
got through, he jumped up and down and licked 
our hands and came home to tea with me, and 
all the evening he lay by my fire just as good as 
gold.” 

“I wish he wouldn’t chase my hens,” said 
Mrs. Smith. 

“ A young dog must have a bit of fun,” said 
Mrs. Gravy. “Never you fear, he’ll not hurt 
them. He likes to see them run.” 

“ School is out,” said Mrs. Smith. “ How 
quiet the children are.” 

The two old ladies were leaning on their gar- 
den gates talking to each other in the pleasant 
summer sunlight. Just beyond them was the 
village green, and beyond it again the school- 
house with its yard. 

The children were quiet, there was no mistake 
about it. 

“They’re grieving over the dog,” said Mrs. 
Gravy suddenly. 

Yes they were ; the girls especially. The vil- 

L 


1 62 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

lage was a small one. Everybody knew every 
other body, and not a boy or girl in the village 
but loved the minister and Jack, his dog. 

No little white form came bounding to meet 
them to-day, and slowly and quietly the boys 
and girls walked toward the parsonage and 
tapped at the front door. 

The minister himself opened it. Strangers 
sometimes when they heard of Jack’s mischiev- 
ous pranks asked why so good a man should live 
with so bad a dog. However, they asked no 
more when some one would say in a low voice 
that Jack had belonged to the minister’s lovely 
young boy, who was now with his mother an 
angel in heaven, and no matter how bad Jack 
was his master could not give him up. 

“Yes, Jack is very ill,” the minister said to 
the boys and girls. “Will you come in and see 
him ? ” 

They went into the house after him with as 
little noise as they could possibly make. 

Jack was in the kitchen lying in his sleeping- 
box. He feebly wagged his tail when he saw his 
little friends and tried to raise himself, but his 
head fell down and he closed his dull eyes. “ I 
would scarcely know him,” said Dorothy Grey 
with a sob; “ he — he looks so pale.” 

Now Jack’s head was jet black with the ex- 
ception of a little white about his nose and a 
snowy arrow on his forehead ; but none of the 
children smiled when Dorothy said he looked 
pale. They were shocked to see him lying there 
so still and so unlike his usual livelv sett 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 163 

“ Do you think that he will get well ? ” asked 
George Thomas in an anxious voice. 

“I do not know,” said the minister gravely. 
“ The doctor has been here three times to-day. 
Perhaps yon would like to see his medicines ? ” 
and he handed two bottles and a box of pills to 
the children. 

They examined the bottles and the box with 
great interest and noticed that they had on their 
labels pictures of dogs, not lying ill like Jack, 
but running fast as if they were in perfect 
health. 

“ Poor Jack ! ” said Mamie Lou Morrison in a 
choked voice, “ if he does not get well, I — I shall 
cry,” and stooping over the box, she laid her 
head on Jack’s little hot body and burst into 
tears. 

“ What is the matter with him ? ” asked one of 
the boys hastily, for he saw that all of the 
girls looked as if they were going to do as 
Mamie Lon was doing. 

“It is disobedience that has made him ill,” 
said the minister gently stroking Mamie Lou’s 
head. “ I told Jack not to go to that heap of 
rubbish on the common when he wanted food, 
but to content himself with the good bread and 
milk that he gets at hpme. He would not mind 
me, and he has stuffed himself with bad meat 
until he now has a fever. I think I must send 
you away. Yon cannot take Jack’s disease, and 
yet it is better for you not to be with him.” 

Looking sadly behind them the children filed 
from the room, while Jack starting up in his 


164 JACK, the minister’s dog 

box tried to follow them but soon fell back 
moaning with pain. 

The next day Jack was worse — in fact he was 
so ill that the children could not see him. 

M Oh, minister, what shall we do ? ” said Doro- 
thy Grey clasping her hands imploringly. 

She had called at the parsonage on her way to 
school, and when she found that the little dog 
that was so dear a playmate of every child in the 
village was probably dying, it seemed as if her 
heart would break. 

“ Won’t he ever put his little cunning head on 
my lap again? ” she cried wildly ; “ won’t he ever 
coax me to play with him ? — oh, minister, I 
can’t have Jack die.” 

“ Perhaps we have thought too much of Jack,” 
said the minister sadly. 

“ No, no, we haven’t ; at least I don’t think 
we have,” said Dorothy, “ for we often get cross 
with him. He is not a perfect dog. I think 
that is why I love him so,” she wailed miser- 
ably, “ ’cause he is just like me and often forgets 
to be good.” 

The minister stood holding the door handle 
and biting his lips as he gazed up into the far 
blue of the sky where it looked as if heaven 
might be and Jack’s little master. 

“ Minister,” said Dorothy suddenly, “ you’ll 
have to ’scuse me ’cause I’m going to cry again. 
G — g — good-bye,” and holding her handker- 
chief against her face she ran away toward the 
schoolhouse. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 65 

“ Oh, girls ! ” she cried when she got among 
her playmates ; then she could say no more. 

They knew what was the matter with her, and 
putting their arms around her without speak- 
ing went into the school-room and took their 
seats. 

Miss Lee, the teacher, had never had such a 
quiet school-room since she had come to White- 
waters. She knew what was wrong and when 
one class after another came up without a whis- 
per or a bit of noise she felt sorry for the chil- 
dren and made up her mind to let them out of 
school a little earlier than usual. 

The boys were not so sad as the girls and were 
able to say their lessons, but several of the girls 
had not remembered a word of what they had 
learned the evening before. 

“ Poor little things, and poor little dog,” she 
said, and raising the lid of her desk she looked 
at a picture of herself and Jack taken only a 
month before. 

A traveling photographer had come to the vil- 
lage and many of the children had had their pic- 
tures taken. Some of them had tried to get 
Jack to sit beside them but he would not do so, 
and they had begged Miss Lee to have him taken 
with her. She had talked soberly to him and 
had put a little chain on his neck, and then he 
sat up like a gentleman and turned his saucy 
face toward the photographer. 

“ Poor little dog,” she said again ; then she 
shut down her desk. “ Children you are dis- 
missed till the afternoon.” 


1 66 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

The boys and girls looked up in relief, and 
quickly filed out of doors. 

Their faces were mostly turned toward the 
parsonage, but they knew it was of no use to go 
there, for they could not see Jack and would only 
trouble the minister. 

Mamie Lou Morrison drew some of the little 
girls aside. 

“ Girls,” she said, “ I have a thought.” 

“ What is it? ” they all said. 

“ Didn’t teacher tell us last Sunday that if we 
asked God to do anything for us he would ? ” 

u Yes, if it was good for us,” said Jennie Lyle ; 
“ teacher said we mustn’t ask for bad things.” 

“ When the rain didn’t come this spring the 
grown people had a prayer meeting, didn’t 
they ? ” replied Mamie Lou. 

“Yes, and the rain came,” said Dorothy joy- 
fully, for she saw what Mamie Lou meant. 

“ Do we always know what is a right thing or 
what is a wrong thing to ask for?” said a red- 
cheeked girl called Bessie Bent. 

“ No ; but God does,” said Dorothy, and her 
face grew quite happy. “ I remember now. 
Teacher said that if we love God and his dear 
Son we are his children and we may ask him for 
anything we like.” 

“ And if the thing will be good for us we get 
it, and if it won’t he knows and won’t let us 
have it,” said Mamie Lou, speaking very fast. 

The girls clasped each other’s hands. “ Let 
us have a prayer meeting. Let us go to the 
minister,” they said together. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 67 

u Minister,” said Dorothy suddenly, when the 
old servant Betsey opened the door of the study 
for her and two others of the girls, w have you 
asked God to spare Jack’s life ? ” 

The minister looked up from the sermon that 
he was writing. 

u Yes,” he said firmly ; “I am not ashamed to 
say that I have prayed that the blessing of that 
bit of animal life may be continued to me.” 

“ May we help you ? ” inquired Dorothy with 
a radiant face. “ Teacher says that God likes 
his children to pray together.” 

The minister looked as if he did not know 
what to say. 

“You need not lead the meeting,” said Doro- 
thy humbly. “ We are only little girls and we 
don’t ’spect as much attention as grown people.” 

“ We could go in the woodshed,” chimed in 
Mamie Lou eagerly. 

Tears came into the minister’s eyes. “You 
dear children,” he said, “ come right in here,” 
and he drew aside the curtain hanging over the 
parlor door. 

“I’ll go and get the other girls,” said Jennie 
Lyle, and she stepped out on the veranda. 

Sixteen children the minister counted as they 
passed into the inner room. After giving them 
a Bible and hymn books, and seeing that they 
had seats enough, he dropped the curtain and 
they thought that they were alone, though he 
was really listening to them. 

They were all girls who had been accustomed 
to go to church, to Sunday-school, and to prayer 


1 68 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

meetings with their parents, and though they 
had never heard of such a thing as a children’s 
meeting they knew that if they carried it on as 
the grown people did theirs they could not go 
far astray. 

Dorothy was the one chosen as leader, and she 
sat in a big chair by the window where her feet 
did not nearly touch the floor. 

When the other girls had all arranged them- 
selves before her she opened her Bible and read 
a chapter about heaven in the Revelation. 

“ Ret us pray,” she said when she finished it, 
and she scrambled out of her big chair and 
knelt on the floor. 

“ Dear God who loves little girls,” she began, 
“I do not know whether thou lettest little dogs 
go to heaven or not, but we would be much hap- 
pier if we thought you would. There is one 
bad little dog in this village that is very, very ill. 
We are so unhappy ; dear Father in heaven let 
him live and we will be so thankful. Make him 

a better dog ” and she prayed on for a long 

time about poor, sick Jack. 

At last she got up and they sang a hymn. 
One by one after that the childien took part in 
the meeting. When there was a pause Dorothy 
would say, “ Speak on, sisters,” or, “ You will 
feel better if you say something.” 

They did not ask for blessings on themselves 
or on the heathen — they were there to ask for 
the dog’s life, and they did not speak of any 
other thing. After a time all had spoken or 
prayed but Tiny Tybert. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 69 

“ Sister,” said Dorothy kindly, “ you are called 
upon to say a word.” 

Tiny was an odd girl and if she were asked 
suddenly to do anything she would often refuse. 
Dorothy knew this and had left her till the last. 

“ I can’t,” said Tiny willfully. 

“ Yes, you can, sister,” said Dorothy. 

“ I don’t know what to say,” replied Tiny. 

u You can do as well as Dolly Fuller,” went 
on Dorothy ; “ she didn’t say anything but 4 Spare 
the dog, good Lord ’ ; you may copy her if you 
like.” 

“ I will not,” and Tiny pouted. 

“ Don’t you want Jack to live ? ” asked Doro- 
thy in surprise. 

“Yes,” said Tiny, “I do.” 

“ Then say so, sister,” and Dorothy smiled at 
her. 

A naughty spirit came over Tiny and she re- 
fused to open her mouth. 

“Will two of the sisters put her out?” said 
Dorothy sadly. “ We ’spect every one to take 
part.” 

The minister drew back from the curtain as 
three little girls came out of the room and only 
two re-entered it. 

“ I wish Dorothy would conduct one of my 
meetings,” he said with a smile. 

After having some more hymns and prayers 
Dorothy told her companions that they must 
close their meeting as it was nearly dinner time 
and their mothers would be getting anxious 
about them. 


I JO JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

Placing herself by the doorway she shook 
hands with each girl as she left the room and 
said, u The L,ord bless you,” as she had heard the 
minister say. 

He was waiting for them and they eagerly 
asked him how the dog was. 

There had been no change for the better in 
him he said, but their bright faces did not grow 
anxious. 

“ God will hear us — I know he will. He loves 
little children,” said Dorothy confidently. “ We 
will be back by-and-by to inquire,” and nod- 
ding hopefully to him she trotted away. 

“ May God bless their little faithful hearts,” 
said the minister looking after the girls. 

“ Jack is better ! Jack is better ! ” called Doro- 
thy running into the schoolhouse yard that after- 
noon as the children were coming out. 

“ The doctor says he may get well. Oh, 
aren’t you glad we had the prayer meeting ? ” 

The boys and girls crowded around her. She 
had been having a half-holiday as her mother 
had decided that she was too much worried 
about Jack to study. 

“ I’ve just come from the parsonage,” she said ; 
“we can’t see him yet, ’cause he’s very weak, 
but by to-morrow or next day mebbe we may. 
Oh, I’m so happy,” and she threw her arms 
around Mamie Dou’s neck. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried one of the boys, throwing his 
cap in the air, “I’m glad too. Jack’s a boss dog. 
We’ll have some fun with him yet.” 


J ACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 171 

Down in the parsonage the minister bent over 
the dog’s box. Jack certainly was better and as 
his master held a saucer of warm milk under his 
nose he lapped it feebly. 

When night came the minister said to his old 
servant, Betsey, “ I don’t think that I need to sit 
up with him to-night.” 

“ No, sir, I don’t think you do,” she replied; 
“ let us give him his medicine and then I will 
fix him comfortably.” 

The minister took a bottle in his hand and 
pulling out the corner of Jack’s lip — for dogs do 
not take medicine from spoons as children do — 
he poured it in between his teeth. 

Then they threw a little white wrap over him, 
left a night-light burning in the hall so that he 
would not feei lonely, and went to bed. 

The minister left his door open so that he 
could hear Jack if he cried for him. 

Just after he had gotten into bed he heard a 
slight noise in the hall. He raised himself on 
his elbow and there coming toward him, the 
white cloth over his back making him look 
like a ghost, was Jack, the dog who had not 
been able to walk for days. 

He was very weak and tottered miserably, but 
still he kept coming near, and before the sur- 
prised minister could get out of bed, Jack was 
beside him, gathering his legs together and with 
a great effort springing up to lay his head on the 
breast of his dearly loved master. 

He was getting better and he felt lonely. 
The minister spread an old coat on an arm-chair 


172 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

beside him and putting Jack on it he let him lie 
there all night and sleep like a little weary dog. 

Oh, what rejoicing there was among the chil- 
dren the next day ! They jumped and shouted 
with delight, then they went in a body to call on 
their beloved playfellow. 

In a week he was able to play with them and 
then the girls had what they called a praise 
prayer meeting. 

“ I wish to say ‘ Thank you ’ to God for being 
so good to us,” said Dorothy when some of the 
girls asked her why she should pray when she 
had gotten what she wanted. 

Most of the girls agreed with her, and they 
had their prayer meeting. 

Then they went to Miss Lee and asked her if 
Jack might not come to the school the next day, 

She looked doubtfully at them. “ I don’t 
know what to say to that. I am very fond of 
Jack, but I scarcely think that school is the 
place for him. Remember what happened when 
Mary’s little lamb went to school.” 

“ The teacher turned him out,” said Dorothy ; 
“ but oh, Miss Lee, it is different with Jack. He 
is so fond of you. He will be a good dog, and 
stay by your desk all day and we shall feel so 
happy to have him there.” 

“ Well, let him come,” said Miss Lee. “ If he 
misbehaves I can easily send him home.” 

Jack went to school the next day, and when 
Miss Lee entered the room she found him lying 
demurely beside her chair with his head on his 
paws. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 73 

All the children were in their seats, and Jack 
looked as if he knew he would be turned out if 
he ran about the room. He got up and wagged 
his tail when he saw her, then he lay down 
again. 

Strange to say, he did not leave his place dur- 
ing the whole morning. He remained perfectly 
quiet, yet his roguish eye wandering from child 
to child in the school seemed to fill each one 
with the spirit of mischief, and Miss Lee re- 
solved that she would never allow a dog in the 
school again. 

Nobody laughed or talked aloud, but she could 
see that all the children were brimful of merri- 
ment. 

She was rather glad when any one made a 
joke during the recitations that gave them an 
excuse to laugh and so get rid of some of their 
superfluous animation. 

“ What is the name by which the Mississippi 
is sometimes known ? ” she asked Mamie Lou 
Morrison, in a geography class. 

“ The father of waters,” said the little girl. 

George Thomas who was something of a wag 
immediately put up his hand. “ If he’s the 
father of waters, Miss Lee, why don’t they call 
him Mr. Sippi and not Mrs. Sippi ? ” 

A laugh ran rippling down the class and Miss 
Lee listening to it, laughed too and said, “ I 
shall bring that remark of yours to the attention 
of the geographers, George. Now let us have 
the first arithmetic class. How far did we get 
last day ? Who remembers ? ” 


174 JACK, the minister’s dog 

“ We got as far as the dismals in fractions,” 
piped up a little girl timidly. 

“ Yes, the decimals,” said Miss Lee paying no 
heed to a groan from George, and looking kindly 
on the class coming together. 

By twelve o’clock all were ready for their 
noon recess. 

“ My mouth just waters to whistle,” whispered 
George to the boy next him, and my legs feel as 
if they belonged to a jumping jack.” 

“It is the dog that makes us feel so,” said the 
lad addressed; “he is full of mischief ; look at 
him now.” 

The bell had rung, and Jack with a merry 
bark and a dash from the platform ran into the 
open air where he knew he would have a romp 
with the children. 

When the boys and girls re-assembled in the 
afternoon Miss Lee took good care that Jack was 
not among them. The school was more orderly 
than it had been in the morning and at three 
o’clock when some one knocked at the door 
there was scarcely a sound to be heard. 

It was the minister, and he had come as he 
often did to give the children a walk after 
school. Sometimes they studied botany and 
sometimes they simply went for a ramble 
through the woods. 

To-day the minister was going to see some 
parishioners who lived close to a butternut 
grove, and knowing that some of the children 
might like to go with him he had called for 
them. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 75 

“ I think they may all go,” said Miss Lee, 
“ except Tom and Harry,” and she looked 
gravely toward two little boys who were so much 
alike that scarcely any one but their mother 
could tell them apart. 

They were twins and a pair of handsome lads. 
At their teacher’s words they both dropped their 
heads and blushed. 

“ I can’t think that the twins would be un- 
kind enough to annoy you, Miss Lee,” said the 
minister. 

“ They have,” said Miss Lee. “ Come here, 
boys.” 

The two lads sidling up against each other 
left their seats and stood out on the floor before 
the whole school. 

“ I was going to keep them in,” said Miss Lee, 
“but I see that I cannot punish them better 
than by telling you of their misdeed.” 

Both boys lifted their heads and looked ap- 
pealingly at her and she relented. 

“ No, I shall not,” she added hastily ; “ I will 
forgive you both if you will give me your word 
of honor never to do such a thing again.” 

Their faces brightened. “ We will,” they said 
together ; then they wheeled around and went to 
their seats. 

Miss Lee looked after them with a relieved 
face and yet a puzzled one. “ They are usually 
very good boys,” she said to the minister. “ It 
is most singular that they should have done what 
they did to-day.” 

“ A singular thing,” muttered George Thomas 


176 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

to the boy next him ; “ it is very plural. They 
have often done it before, but I am not going to 
tell on them.” 

One of the twins jumped up. “ Miss Lee, it 
was the house- warning that made us do it.” 

“The house- warning ? I do not understand,” 
said the teacher. 

“ We moved in our new house yesterday, you 
know,” continued the boy, “ and we had a party 
in the evening, and Tom can’t study as fast as I 
can, so I told him I would recite for him to-day.” 

“Oh, yes; I see what you mean,” said Miss 
Lee ; “ you had a house-warming.” 

“ And Harry being bright and Tom being dull, 
and both looking as much alike as two boys pos- 
sibly could, one of them has been saying his 
lessons and returning to his seat and then saying 
them over again for the other boy,” said the min- 
ister to himself; “and bless their little hearts, 
they still think I do not understand.” 

“ I am so glad that you have explained,” said 
Miss Lee, and she looked kindly at them. 

The twins had not particularly tender con- 
sciences, but something had touched them to- 
day ; whether it was the presence of the minister 
or not Miss Lee could not tell. They blushed 
still more, fidgeted and wriggled about on their 
seats, and finally, Tom, the dull one, rose and 
blurted out penitently, “ We have sneaked before, 
Miss Lee, lots of times, but we will not do so 
again. ” 

Miss Lee looked exceedingly surprised ; then 
seeing that both boys were heartily sorry and 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 


177 

ashamed of themselves, she said : “I will trust 
you now that you have given me your word. 
Children you are dismissed.” 

All the boys and girls filed out of the school- 
room and ran home to ask permission of their 
parents to accompany their beloved minister on 
his walk. 

Jack was waiting outside, and when he saw 
them coming he ran about barking and tossing 
his head and acting as if he were crazy with de- 
light. 

A quarter of an hour later the minister moved 
down the street at the head of a joyful band of 
boys and girls. 

Dorothy, who was perhaps the minister’s most 
ardent admirer, trotted close beside him as they 
passed down the sidewalk under the spreading 
tree branches. 

“ Minister, what makes you so good to little 
children ? ” she asked, looking up at him. “ Is 
it because around the throne of God ten thou- 
sand children stand ? ” 

The minister put out his hand to take her tiny 
brown one. “Yes, Dorothy, perhaps it is ; I have 
a little boy there, you know.” 

“Minister, what is the difference of an e-gull 
to a sea-gull ? ” chimed in a tiny child elbowing 
his way among the throng of girls about the 
tall man. 

Away above them a large eagle was making 
his way to a distant mountain. The minister 
stopped, and gathering the children about him, 
pointed up to the majestic bird and told them of 

M 


178 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

the manner in which she builds her nest and 
rears her young, and then drawing a piece of 
paper and a pencil from his pocket he sketched 
a picture of some of the beautiful white-winged 
gulls that he said lived near the sea and rarely 
came as far inland as they were. 

While the minister was talking to the chil- 
dren Jack was getting himself into trouble. 

Two men and a dog and a flock of sheep had 
come along the road on their way to the village. 
One man was in the lead, and the sheep guarded 
by the collie were following him. The other 
man drove a cart behind them in which was an 
invalid sheep. The collie had a very great care 
of the sick sheep and every few minutes would 
leave the flock to see how it was getting on. 

When Jack saw the sheep coming he thought 
that here was a fine chance to play, and running 
in among them he scattered them to the right 
and the left. 

The collie threw him a contemptuous glance 
and tried to drive him away. The minister see- 
ing what trouble Jack was giving, hastily thrust 
his paper and pencil into his pocket and whistled 
to him. 

Jack came to him rather reluctantly and while 
the girls were saying “ Naughty Jack,” the boys 
busied themselves in helping the patient collie 
to reassemble the frightened sheep. 

When they were all in order and the cloud of 
dust kicked up by the many little hoofs was dis- 
appearing in the distance the collie came running 
back. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 


179 


“ He looks as if he had forgotten something,” 
said Mamie Lou Morrison. 

The minister watched the big dog with in- 
terest He came right up to lively, rollicking 
Jack and fixing his teeth in the back of his neck 
carried him for a little distance in the road. 

The girls all shrieked, “Oh, he is going to kill 
him, the bad dog; drive him away.” 

The minister laughed and seizing a stick ran 
after the collie who was shaking Jack and rolling 
him over and over in the dust. Jack was taking 
his punishment like a brave dog. 

“ Don’t you see,” said George Thomas ex- 
citedly, “ Jack made the collie mad by disturb- 
ing the sheep — the collie had not time to punish 
him then, but he came back to do it.” 

“ It takes a good while to take the puppy 
nature out of a dog,” said the minister smiling 
at poor discomfited Jack, who ran to hide him- 
self among the girls. 

“ And it takes a good while for some boys and 
girls to stop being like puppies,” said Dorothy 
Grey in an undertone, as she stooped down to pet 
Jack; “I hate to see dogs whip you, Jackie.” 

The little animal licked her hand and walked 
close beside her as the straggling band of children 
suddenly turned from the road and went through 
a long green alley leading to a picturesque but 
tumble-down cottage situated in a grove of beau- 
tiful butternut trees. 

An old man in a green coat sat on the door- 
step of the cottage, his hand resting on the collar 
of an old black dog. At the approach of the 


i8o jack, the minister’s dog 

little party they both got up. The old dog 
soon smelled Jack out and wagging his tail 
touched his muzzle politely, while Jack, mindful 
of his late experience, was careful to be polite in 
his turn and do nothing to annoy his host. 

The old man shook hands with the minister 
and opening his eyes wide at the sight of the boys 
and girls exclaimed, “ Dear me, what a fine batch 
of children!” 

“ May they have some of your nuts ?” shouted 
the minister in the old man’s ear. 

“ Certainly, sir, certainly,” and the old man 
turned to the boys and girls who were looking 
curiously at him. “ I am deaf, my little dears, 
deaf as one of those butternuts ; and my sister is 
deaf, and the dog is deaf, and we are just like 
three barbarians.” 

“ My grandpa is deaf,” said Mamie Lou 
Morrison, standing on tiptoe to reach the old 
man’s ear ; “ but I love him just the same.” 

The shrill little voice made itself heard and 
the old man nodded approvingly at her “ A good 
child, my dear; I wish I was your grandfather.” 

“How are the squirrels getting on, Mr. 
White?” called the minister. 

“ Oh, smartly, sir, smartly ; they are tamer than 
ever. They run over my bed in the morning 
and wake me up.” 

The minister turned to the children. “ These 
trees are full of squirrels and they are Mr. White’s 
pets. He never allows any one to throw stones 
at them nor shoot them and they have confidence 
in him.” 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG l8l 

u There is no child here that would rob a 
squirrel’s hoard is there?” said Mr. White in his 
melancholy, far-away voice that he could not 
hear himself. 

The children wagged their heads so violently 
that it seemed as if they must shake them off. 

“That is right,” said the old man. “Now 
come along and I will show you the best trees,” 
and he led the way around the corner of the 
house. “ Do you know what this is ? ” he asked, 
stopping suddenly and scraping on the ground 
with his foot. 

A heap of nuts lay among the earth and leaves. 

“It is a squirrel’s store of nuts,” exclaimed 
the children. 

“Why do they put them here?” asked the 
old man. 

Some of the children answered him, but he did 
not hear them and so he went on : “ The saucy 

fellows run up the trees, bite off the nuts, then run 
down again and draw earth over them to soften 
the outside rind. After a while they gnaw it off, 
for the squirrels put their nuts in heaps and this 
rind would mould if they left it <3n. When I 
gather nuts I leave the rind on, but I spread them 
out and keep turning them. Now, young people, 
help yourselves.” 

The boys went swarming up the tree trunks 
and the girls ran hither and thither, laughing 
and talking and occasionally falling down in 
their haste to pick up the nuts, while the min- 
ister sat on a grassy knoll and talked to the old 
man. 


1 82 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

By and by some of the girls got tired and 
came and sat down beside them. 

“ I see little squirrels peeping at us from the 
branches” said Jennie Lyle; aren’t they cun- 
ning, minister ? ” 

“Yes, they are; and if we were not here they 
would be running all over Mr. White and teasing 
this old dog.” 

“Why do they tease the dog?” asked Tiny 
Tybert. 

“ Just to amuse themselves. The last time I 
was here I was in the house talking to Miss 
White, and from the window I watched two 
squirrels running to and from their nest, which 
is in that old stable behind the house. They 
were carrying cedar berries to it for winter 
use, and for a time they worked very busily, 
passing and re-passing each other. Then they 
stopped and looking mischievously at each other 
seemed to say, Let us have some fun. Rover was 
lying asleep on the doorstep, and running 
quickly up to him they chirped loudly. I don’t 
think he could have heard them, as he is so deaf, 
but lazily opening his eyes he saw them and 
looked as if he wanted to say, ‘ It is a warm day, 
don’t bother me.’ ” 

“ And then what did they do ? ” asked Tiny 
eagerly. 

“ They scampered back and forth before him 
and at last began to run over his tail and then 
he too began to scamper, and picking himself 
up jumped to and fro, barking wildly and trying 
to catch them ; of course he could not do so. 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 83 

One of them ran inside of that pump, where he 
could not get at him, and the other took refuge 
on this little sapling and slipped up and down 
the stem as Rover advanced or retreated. The 
poor old dog barked himself nearly hoarse and 
Miss White went out and drove the squirrels 
away.” 

“ There is something the matter with the old 
man,” said Dorothy Grey, suddenly running up. 
“ Do come to him, minister.” 

A young man carrying an ax over his 
shoulder had a few minutes previous come out 
of the ramshackle old barn behind the house and 
roared a few sentences in Mr. White’s ear. 

“ Just look at him,” said Dorothy, “ the poor 
old man ; he is flinging his arms about and tear- 
ing his coat.” 

“ What has happened ? ” asked the minister 
hurrying to the two men. 

“ It is the colt, the colt, sir,” said Mr. White 
in his hollow voice ; “he has been gone for 
hours and I have only just found it out. I should 
have looked after him myself.” 

“ It is not my fault,” the young man called in 
his ear ; “ it is your old broken fences that are to 
blame.” 

“ Rover,” said Mr. White stooping down and 
putting his mouth to the ear of the old dog who 
stood watchfully beside him, “ Tiny is lost.” 

The dog looked up, wagged his tail and looked 
as if he understood him. 

“ Where was the colt when you last saw him, 
Joseph?” asked the minister of the young man. 


184 JACK, the minister’s dog 

“Up in the big pasture, sir ; he has been run- 
ning with the cattle the last few days.” 

“ And what makes you think that something 
has happened to him ? ” 

“ Because the cattle came home long ago and 
when I went after him and called he did not 
answer me nor come. I guess he is stolen or 
else in trouble. I am just setting off to find 
out.” 

“ Minister, can’t we go and help Mr. White 
look for the little colt ? ” exclaimed Mamie Lou 
eagerly. 

The minister smiled at her and was just about 
to reply when Miss White — a neat little old lady 
carrying a basket on her arm — came hurrying up 
the long alley. 

She threw up her hands when she saw the 
minister and the children and hastened to greet 
them and say that she was so sorry to be away 
from home when they arrived. Then seeing by 
her brother’s face that he was in trouble she 
asked for an explanation. 

The brother spoke in her ear, then she spoke 
in his and in the ear of the dog, who seemed to 
be an important member of the family, and all 
the girls and the boys who had come scrambling 
down from the trees stood about and listened and 
looked on sympathetically. 

“ Poor little colt, poor little colt, I am just 
most dreadfully sorry for him, minister,” mur- 
mured Dorothy. 

“ He is not a little colt,” said the minister ; 
“he is a big handsome animal, two or three 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 185 

years old. Mr. White was planning to sell him 
this autumn and get enough money to carry him 
and his sister through the winter. They have 
not much of an income and if anything has 
happened to this animal it will be a serious 
loss.” 

“ Let us go and look for him at once,” said 
Dorothy. “ See ; the man is starting.” 

u Yes, yes, let us go,” echoed all the other 
boys and girls. 

“Now, I think : ” said the minister, “that 
while the boys may go, it will be more suitable 
and more restful for the little girls to stay here 
with Miss White than to accompany us in 
tramping over rough pasture land.” 

The girls’ faces fell and Mamie Lou murmured 
dejectedly, “ I s’pose you’re right, minister, you 
always are; but I want to go terribly.” 

The minister was speaking to Miss White. 

“ Certainly, certainly,” she replied in a voice 
just like her brother’s. “Let them come in 
the house, and I will give them some cake and 
milk.” 

“ We shall soon be back,” said the minister, 
and he hurried after Mr. White and the man 
while the girls stood in a sober group and 
watched them. 

“Jack,” said the minister to his small dog, 
who was running to and fro and looking very 
wise, “I wonder whether you understand this? 
Do you know that the big brown animal you 
were chasing the other day is missing ? See, he 
lived in there,” and the minister pointed to the 


1 86 JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 

dilapidated stable ; “ try to find him, and cover 
yourself with glory.” 

Jack leaped up and licked his hand, then went 
scurrying in wide circles around him. 

“He has caught the idea that we are after 
something,” said the minister, “ but whether he 
knows what it is or not is another thing.” 

The boys liked the excitement of looking for 
the colt, and plied Joseph with questions until 
they separated into different bands at the pasture 
gate and began a systematic search of the wide 
extent of land before them. 

Away at the back of the pasture were some 
boggy holes from which mud had been taken for 
fertilizing purposes. 

“ I am afeared he’s got into one of them,” 
muttered Joseph to himself, as with the foremost 
band of boys he worked slowly toward this 
spot. 

Just then an excited howling and barking was 
heard from Jack, who kept always a little in ad- 
vance. 

“ Hello, what is that ? do you suppose Jack 
has struck a porcupine ? ” said one of the twins. 

“ I guess a porcupine has struck him, by the 
noise he is making,” said George Thomas. 
“ Let us hurry up and see. Those quills are 
hateful things to get out.” 

“And I guess he’s found the colt,” said 
Joseph ; “he’s a pretty cute dog, and I thought 
he mistrusted what we were after.” 

“ Hooray for him, if he has,” said George, and 
followed by the boys he dashed through the in- 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 87 

tervening shrubbery and came in sight of a low, 
marshy place where Jack stood on a stump 
barking so violently that his fore paws were 
lifted from the stump every time he opened his 
mouth. 

“ Tiny, Tiny, Tiny,” called Joseph letting his 
voice rise and fall in a peculiar way. 

A pitiful whinny seemed to come from the 
ground beneath them, and there, half hidden by 
a clump of rushes, was the colt in one of the 
larger mud holes. 

His beautiful eyes were fixed appealing on 
them, his hind legs were sunk in the soft black 
earth, his fore legs were on solid ground, and his 
head was laid on the bank as if he was tired. 

The boys set up a shouting that soon brought 
the other members of the party to the spot. 

Mr. White stroked his favorite’s head gently. 
Then he put his ear close to the minister. “ He 
is hoarse from whinnying,” he said eagerly, 
“isn’t he? He must have been here for some 
hours.” 

“Yes,” said the minister sympathetically, “ the 
poor creature’s voice is quite hoarse.” 

Joseph had thrown down his ax and was 
busily engaged in putting a coil of rope that he 
had brought with him around the colt’s body and 
neck. Soon he had it ready for them all to grasp 
and the boys, the minister, and Mr. White 
pulled as hard as they could in order to raise the 
unhappy animal from his bed of mud. 

Tiny understood perfectly what they were 
doing, and with a grateful whinny braced his fore 


i88 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 


legs firmly against the edge of the bank under 
the impression that he was helping them. 

“ L,et go,” said Joseph. “ We shall never get 
him out this way.” 

The rope fell from their hands and with some 
assistance from the minister and the boys 
Joseph unwound it from the colt’s body and 
neck and fastened it firmly around his legs. 

Then they all pulled again, and this time they 
got him out. He had been in the hole so long 
and was so weak from struggling that he stag- 
gered when he found himself once more on 
solid ground, and a nervous tremor ran all over 
the velvety brown body usually so handsome 
but now encrusted with mud. 

“ Come,” said Joseph leading the way, and after 
a preliminary shake and a glance at the chatter- 
ing boys about him the colt soberly walked 
toward his stable. 

Not the least happy member of the party was 
Jack. He ran from one boy to another, getting 
words of praise that he loved so well, and 
listened to the “good dog” and “clever dog” 
showered upon him. 

Old Rover, who had wished to find the colt 
but who had not been able to do so, walked 
sulkily beside his master and cast envious 
glances at Jack from time to time. 

Mr. White looked often and anxiously at the 
colt. “ He will be some time getting over this,” 
he said ; “ such a mishap takes the strength out 
of an animal, particularly a young one.” 

“ He will be all right in a few days,” said the 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 1 89 

minister cheerily. “If he is not, I will see that 
you are not a loser.” 

“ May God bless you, sir,” murmured Mr. 
White ; “ you have had trouble in your own 
heart and you know what it is,” and he watched 
the minister gratefully as he threw off his coat 
when they reached the stable and helped Joseph 
wash and blanket the exhausted animal, who 
turned his head miserably from the nice feed of 
oats offered to him. 

Then came something very interesting to the 
boys — the heating of water and the administering 
of a big bottle of medicine to the colt. Joseph 
held his head and the minister pulling his lips 
far back poured the mixture in the side of his 
mouth while Mr. White rubbed his throat. 

“Now let us go to the house,” said the min- 
ister when the colt was finally led into his stall. 
“ The little girls will be anxious to hear about 
this, and then we must get them home to their 
mothers.” 

Early the next morning Mr. White was very 
much flattered to find a delegation of school 
children at his gate inquiring about the sick 
colt. 

“ Better, better ; bless your little hearts,” he 
said. “ I was up with him nearly all night ; but 
he improved so fast there was really no need of 
it. What makes you little ones so fond of ani- 
mals ? ” 

“ We learn about them in school,” said Tiny 
Tybert in the old man’s ear. “Miss Eee says 


190 jack, the minister’s dog 

that if we are kind to dumb animals we shall be 
kind to each other.” 

“She is right, quite right,” said Mr. White. 
“ I am sure I never saw such a lot of tender- 
hearted children in my life. I noticed how you 
played with each other yesterday — as gentle as 
lambs, as gentle as lambs. How is the pretty 
little dog that found my colt? ” 

Dorothy made a gesture in the direction of 
the village, and said, “We have not seen him 
this morning, the minister keeps him shut up 
till after school ’cause he wants to go too.” 

“ He is usually a very obedient dog, though,” 
said Mamie L,ou anxiously ; “ and I am sure he 
will grow to be almost a perfect dog some day. 
He is a great comfort to the minister.” 

“Yes, yes, he is a fine little dog, and he will 
grow finer,” said Mr. White. “ Bring him up 
again, won’t you ? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” said the girls all together ; 
“ now we must go. Thank you for telling us 
about the colt,” and like a flock of fairies they 
vanished down the green alley. 

The old man stood looking thoughtfully after 
them. “ In my day there was not much made 
of this business of kindness ; but I see that it is 
going to make the world better.” 

“Brother, you look as if you were saying 
something,” said Miss White coming out on the 
doorstep and putting her head close to his, so 
that he might communicate his thought to her. 
“ What is it ? ” 

“ Only this, and it is pretty important too,” 


JACK, THE MINISTER’S DOG 191 

said the old man in her ear ; “ that if you can get 
religion and kindness to go hand and hand 
through this world we are not far from the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

“ Religion and kindness,” said the old lady 
nodding her head ; u that is a good thought, 
brother, a very good thought.” 



VII 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


KAEOOSA THE FIRST 

pjl^ALOOSA the first was a young Indian 
mWcn gi r i w ith long, straight black hair, 
a dark skin, and liquid eyes ; and she 
lived many years ago in the forests of 
T* Nova Scotia. 

The Indians were quite happy in those days. 
They did not feel the cold in winter for they en- 
camped in the dense forests where the wind 
could not reach them and they kept good fires 
and wrapped themselves in the skins of animals 
that they had killed. During the summer they 
had fine times tramping over the country and 
paddling about on the rivers and lakes in their 
bark canoes. 

Kaloosa’s father, Ababejit, was chief of the 
Micmacs, a tribe that boasted that they were the 
strongest and bravest of all the Indian race. 

One June afternoon in this long time ago, 
when Ababejit had his encampment near the 
mouth of a river, he came home from hunting, 
and sticking his lance in a tree turned to enter 
his wigwam wondering that no young daughter 
192 


She . . . stretched out her hand toward the . 








THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


193 


came running to meet him, pressing her dark 
face to his u Utkuncheeju ” — dear little mouth 
— and asking him what luck he had had in the 
forest. 

He saw his wife or squaw busy with a pot 
hung over the fire where she was preparing a 
ifieal for him ; but he did not speak to her, and 
striding into the wigwam he sat down at the 
back of it in the place of honor. 

The outside of the wigwam was covered with 
rows of bark to keep out the rain. Inside was a 
lining of spruce boughs, and on the ground were 
more boughs that took the place of carpets and 
beds. A bear skin, that hung over the doorway, 
was pulled aside and Ababejit, looking out on a 
green meadow and a running river, still won- 
dered where Kaloosa was. 

Presently some one stepped between him and 
the lovely picture framed by the wigwam door- 
way. A tall black-haired youth, one of his 
nephews, stood before him. 

“ Kutakumagual upchelase,” said Ababejit, 
which meant, “ Come to the back of the wig- 
wam.” 

The young man stepped over the place by the 
doorway, which was devoted to the use of the 
women and children, and seated himself cross- 
legged by his uncle. 

He had come to find out how many animals 
Ababejit had killed that day; but it was not 
Indian etiquette to ask questions and his uncle 
did not seem inclined to talk. An adroit com- 
pliment at last loosened the chief’s tongue. 

N 


i 9 4 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


“ The wise men of the tribe say,” remarked 
the young man, u that the great Sachem, Ababe- 
jit, who lived many moons ago, once speared so 
many porpoises that there was not room in the 
land of the Micmacs to contain them.” 

“ The wise men speak truly,” returned Aba- 
bejit with gravity ; then he proceeded to give an 
account of his day’s sport 

After that they talked of many things, while 
the squaw outside patiently kept her lord’s din- 
ner hot, for she knew that he would not eat till 
he had rested. 

The young man spoke of the white men who 
had recently arrived in the country, and asked 
his uncle about the manner of their coming. 

Ababejit pointed to the northeast, where the 
island of Cape Breton lies close to the peninsula 
of Nova Scotia. 

“ Before your eyes opened upon these forests,” 
he said to the young man, “ the sun shone down 
one day on a curious mark on the seashore. It 
was not the print of a bird, nor of a beast, of a 
naked foot, nor of a moccasin. Our brethren 
followed other marks like it, till lifting up their 
eyes they saw riding on the waves a canoe larger 
than any canoes of the Micmacs. Men with 
white skins came from it to the shore. Our 
brethren wondered yet said nothing, while they 
received magic gifts from the strangers. The 
pale faces went away, but you know that they 
have returned and another race has followed 
them.” 

“ Have you heard the words of the medicine 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 1 95 

man ? ” asked the visitor, whose name was 
Nanavivana. 

“What words?” asked Ababejit. 

He knew very well what they were, yet he 
did not care to acknowledge it. 

“ Words of war,” said the young man. “ He 
says that the white races are to take away the 
lands of the red man, that they will have cruel 
wars and will entice us to join them. For many 
years it will be ‘ matundimk, matundimk ’ — war, 
war. The white man will break his word to 
the red man, and the red man will break his 
word to the white man. They will burn wig- 
wams and murder women and children ; but 
the French and English must bear the blame, 
for they will hire the Indians to do it.” 

Ababejit stretched out his right hand. “ Away 
to the setting sun,” he said, “this land is the 
land of the red men ; they will not allow the 
stranger to penetrate it.” 

“The medicine man says,” continued his 
guest, “that the pale faces will take the for- 
ests and the meadows and the rivers from our 
race.” 

Ababejit gave a contemptuous grunt. “The 
pale faces are few, we are many ; as it has been 
so it will be.” 

At this moment the squaw approached and 
asked a question of their guest, in the soft flow- 
ing accents of the Micmac tongue. 

Ababejit listened keenly for the young man’s 
answer. The squaw had asked when the young 
daughter, Kaloosa, would return home. 


196 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


“Kaloosa has not visited our wigwam for 
three days,” said the young man. 

The squaw looked at Ababejit in a dazed 
manner. 

“ When did the girl leave the wigwam ? ” he 
asked calmly 

The squaw told him that she had left home 
early in the morning. 

Ababejit rose and followed by the young man 
went along the river bank. 

First they visited every wigwam in the en- 
campment. The men were lolling about, dogs 
and children were playing ; and the squaws, for 
the most part, were cooking. No one had seen 
Kaloosa. Several of the men jumped up and 
joined in the search. They formed a circle 
around the encampment and advanced farther 
and farther into the forest, scrutinizing every 
tree and shrub and stooping down to examine 
even the blades of grass and tiny flowers. 

Presently they returned in a body. Ababejit 
silently held up an arrow. 

At the sight of it there was a terrible outcry 
among the women. They tore their hair and 
rushed to and fro, for they all recognized the 
arrow as one quite different from their own. It 
belonged to their hated foes, the Mohawks. A 
band of them must have stolen Kaloosa. 

The men, apparently quite unmoved by the 
clamor that filled the encampment, quietly made 
preparations for an extended march. Then 
stolidly turning their backs on their wigwams 
they plunged into the still forest. They could 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


197 


not go very far that night. They soon had to 
encamp ; but by daybreak the next morning 
they were up again and on the track of their 
foes. 

Before the next night they caught up with 
the Mohawks ; but they did not dare attack them 
as the strangers were in much larger numbers 
than they were. 

The Micmacs hung about in the rear of their 
enemies, not showing themselves by day, and 
taking only stealthy observations at night. 
Ababejit was relieved to see that his young 
daughter was being well treated. Owing to her 
pretty ways and the fact of her being the 
daughter of a chief, they were keeping her for 
ransom or to make her the bride of one of the 
principal men in their own tribe. 

Ababejit knew that she was traveling mourn- 
fully away from her home, and when at night 
he crept near enough to see her despairing atti- 
tude, as she sat a little apart from the dusky 
warriors who were the mortal enemies of her 
tribe, he felt himself burning with a slow fury 
because he could not rush in and attempt her 
rescue. 

One evening, when he lay crouched in the 
underbrush at some distance from the Mohawk 
camp, he heard something whirring softly over 
his head, and looking up he saw a white pigeon. 
A flock of pigeons among the Indians meant 
war ; but this was only a solitary one, and he 
joyfully recognized it as his daughter’s pet 
pigeon. It had followed her all the way from 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


198 

home, flying over her head by day and resting at 
night on a branch near her. 

Ababejit rose cautiously, extended his wrist to 
his daughter’s pet, and when it alighted he 
stroked it gently, then seized it by its red feet. 

After making it fast he took a tiny piece of 
birch bark from a tree near him, and opening 
a little vein in his arm, scrawled on it with his 
blood in Indian characters, “ Do not mourn, 
Kaloosa, I see, I follow.” 

There is no word in the Micmac language for 
patience, or he probably would have told her to 
be patient. As it was, he felt much comforted 
that he had been able to communicate with her, 
and freeing the pigeon which he knew would go 
straight to his darling, he lay down again noise- 
lessly and revolved in his mind some of the 
many plans that he had formed for effecting 
Kaloosa’s escape. 

The next day, when the Mohawks resumed 
their march toward their own country, the chief 
saw that there was a change in Kaloosa. No 
longer sad and dispirited, she ran by his side 
through the forest smiling, laughing, and some- 
times singing to herself. 

“ What is it, O Kaloosa, pretty one ? ” he said 
at last in the Mohawk tongue. “ Thy face that 
has been overcast is sunny. Thou at last re- 
joicest to leave thy home and the Micmacs, low- 
est of races.” 

“Not so, O Petonkas,” she said courageously. 
“The Micmacs are the loved of the Great 
Spirit ; the Mohawks the detested.” 


THE TWO KATOOSAS 


I 99 


The expression of the Mohawk chief’s face 
changed so much that a girl less brave than 
Kaloosa would have been afraid of him. 

“Last night I dreamed, O chief,” she said. 
“ The great Spirit sent another spirit to confer 
with me. I dreamed — oh, such a pleasant 
dream,” and looking around at the party of 
Mohawks, she burst into excited laughter. 

The Mohawks, who in common with all other 
Indians were full of superstition, expressed some 
curiosity to hear the substance of her dream, but 
she refused to enlighten them. 

“ When the camp-fire burns to-night, O Pe- 
tonkas,” she said quietly, “ then I may relate 
things revealed to me ; not now, lest I vex the 
Great Spirit.” 

Petonkas did not know quite what to make of 
Kaloosa, and marched quietly on. 

The Micmacs all through the day knew noth- 
ing of what the Mohawks were doing, as they 
were obliged to keep far behind them, but when 
the darkness came, Ababejit ordering his follow- 
ers to remain where they were crept over the 
ground like a snake to within a few yards of the 
Mohawks, for the members of the party who had 
been placed as guards had in their curiosity 
drawn near the circle around the fire. 

There sat Kaloosa, her long black hair falling 
over her face, her arms resting on her knees, as 
she sat in a crouching posture on the ground. 

The chief, Ababejit, not knowing the reason 
of her sudden dejection felt his heart sink within 
him as he noticed her despairing attitude, and 


200 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


knew that her pretty face must be drawn -and 
haggard. 

The Mohawks had been unable to obtain any 
game that day, and it was a party of almost 
fasting men that surrounded Kaloosa. Strange 
to say, they had offered her a large portion of 
what food they had. Though she was their 
prisoner, her gentleness and beauty had made an 
impression, on them, and surprised and disturbed 
by her change of demeanor they were watching 
her intently and uneasily. 

It was not a pleasant evening. The sky was 
overcast and the wind murmured drearily 
through the tops of the tall trees. The leaves 
rustled as if there was going to be a storm, and 
suddenly Kaloosa began crying bitterly. 

The Mohawks said nothing to her, and after a 
time she raised her head, pushed back her hair, 
and rising slowly stretched out her hand toward 
the Mohawk chief. 

“You wish me to tell my dream, O chief ; 
better for you perhaps did you not do so. This 
morning I rejoiced when I thought on it. This 
evening I sorrow, for ” — looking at the re- 
jected food which the Mohawks were too proud 
to touch — “ Kaloosa is not insensible to kind- 
ness. But listen ! the Great Spirit has revealed 
to me things of the future. I saw an encamp- 
ment of the mighty Mohawk nation, after the 
Micmacs bravest among men. I saw the bosom 
of a quiet lake — the waters were not stirred ; 
one, two, three, four canoes went out on it. One, 
two, three came back. ‘ Where is the fourth,’ I 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


201 


cried. Gone, gone, O chief,” and a shrill cry 
of pain rang out from the girl as she threw her 
hands despairingly up toward heaven. 

“ I walked by the shores of the lake and I 
mourned. Ukchenut, Maloit,” — and she went 
on to name half the members of the party be- 
fore her, pointing to each one as she did so with 
an expressive gesture — “ were in that lost canoe.” 

The Indians glanced stoically at her, though 
their faces blanched a little. The Indians not 
named were equally stoical, though in their 
hearts was a feeling of relief, for they regarded 
the girl for the time being as a prophetess ; but 
she had not finished. 

“ I walked by the lake and mourned,” she 
went on sadly. “ Then a great war arose. The 
Mohawks went out in a mighty army and they 
came back again with many scalps, and there 
was feasting and rejoicing ; but my heart was 
heavy, for the men I had known were not there. 

“ ‘ Where, O warriors, are Nadgewit and Mo- 
welo ? ’ I exclaimed, ‘ Mowelo, the swift deer of 
the forest ? ’ 

“ ‘ Chelautok ! chelautok ! ’ — he is slain, he is 
slain — was the reply. 

“ ‘ And where Petonkas, the wild bear of the 
mountains, the victor of victors ? ’ and the girl 
fixed her burning glance on the chief of the Mo- 
hawk band. 

“ 1 He was taken alive,’ they answered me,” 
and at this most terrible of fates to befall an In- 
dian warrior the girl raised her voice to a shrill 
scream of horror. 


202 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


“ ‘ And, wherefore reserve him for the torture, 
O Spirit ? ’ I cried. 

u ‘ Because he forgot his manhood and became 
a thief of children. He entered the camp of a 
man that was not at war with him,’” and half 
fainting Kaloosa threw herself on the ground at 
Petonkas’ feet. 

He watched her solemnly. “ The Great Spirit 
has spoken to the maiden,” he said at last. 

Just as he uttered these words there was a 
flash of lightning and a terrific thunderstorm 
burst upon them. “The Great Spirit hath 
spoken; it is for us to hear,” muttered the 
others. 

Ababejit in speechless delight made his way 
under cover of the storm back to his followers. 
As well as if he had heard Petonkas make a 
solemn vow he knew what he would do. To 
propitiate the Great Spirit Kaloosa would be re- 
turned to his wigwam. With implicit faith in 
his foe, for Indians do not break their word to 
each other, he hurried back to his encampment 
a day’s march ahead of his enemies. 

The Mohawks went by a different route 
through the forest. When they arrived within 
half a day’s march of Ababejit’s wigwam, scouts 
were sent out. They came back reporting that 
the chief and his principal men were engaged 
in fishing. 

The Mohawks escorted Kaloosa a little farther, 
parted from her without emotion but with con- 
cealed regret on account of her gentle ways. 

Ababejit, as he stepped from his canoe at sun- 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


203 


down, felt once more the ecstasy of clasping his 
brave child in his arms and finding her unhurt 
and uninjured in any way. 


KALOOSA THE SECOND 

The first Kaloosa grew to be a woman, married 
a Micmac brave, and after some years died leav- 
ing a number of children. 

As time went on the prophecy of the medicine 
man came true. The French and the English 
overran Nova Scotia. The tribe of the Micmacs 
became greatly reduced in numbers, and to-day 
there are only a few thousands of them scattered 
about the province. 

Their lands have passed into the possession 
of the white people, and they have lost their 
ancient prowess in hunting and fishing, for the 
wild animals are nearly all gone from the forests. 
Some of the Micmacs still live in wigwams, 
others have small wooden houses, and they sup- 
port themselves by cultivating meagre patches 
of ground, or by making barrels, baskets, and 
buckets, which they sell to the white people. 

The little Kaloosa, whom we now have to tell 
about, is a descendant and namesake of the first 
Kaloosa. One winter day a few years ago she 
was sitting beside her mother in the market- 
place of a Nova Scotian town. It was a cold 
morning, and Kaloosa’s feet were quite numb as 
they stuck straight out before her on the snow 
bank which was her seat. 


204 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


Her mother, Nancy, leaned heavily against 
her, and Kaloosa looked uneasily at her every 
few minutes. 

They had made a number of gay pink and 
white baskets that they had brought to the town 
to sell ; but Nancy was not able to offer them for 
the inspection of passers-by, and Kaloosa being 
too shy to do so, none of them were being sold. 

“ Is your mother asleep ? ” asked a lady who 
was doing her marketing, and who stopped sud- 
denly before them. 

“No, no sleep,” whispered Kaloosa softly. 

The lady looked sadly down at them. She 
saw that the squaw had been drinking. “ She 
is katheet,” she murmured, for she understood a 
little Micmac. 

Kaloosa shook her head. “No, no, not 
katheet — welopskeet. ’ ’ W elopskeet was a milder 
way of stating the case, for katheet means simply 
drunk. 

“ Poor child,” pursued the lady pityingly, 
“you wish to screen your mother.” Then she 
added, “ Are you not cold ? ” 

“ Yes, me cold,” drawled Kaloosa with the 
pretty accent of her tribe. “You got ole skirt 
for me ? ” 

“Yes, come to my house the next time you 
are in town,” said the lady, writing an address 
on a slip of paper for her ; “ and now you had 
better get your mother home. She will take 
cold if you stay here. I will buy three of your 
baskets now.” 

“Yes, me go,” murmured Kaloosa, and scram- 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 205 

bling to her little half-frozen feet she took her 
mother by the arm. 

The lady watched them going down the street. 
“ Poor things ! dressed in our discarded garments, 
the victims of the wretched fire-water. How 
many sins we shall have to answer for.” 

Some people imagine that Indian children are 
very carelessly brought up, but this is not the 
case. Kaloosa had been taught to respect her 
parents, and she did so even when they were 
doing wrong things. She guided her mother’s 
tottering footsteps carefully along the crowded 
streets, till at last they were out on a country 
road and walking toward their little hut in the 
woods. 

The tree branches were laden with snow, only 
the rabbits and the foxes shared with them the 
track from the road to the hut, and by the time 
they arrived there Nancy’s half-worn shoes and 
Kaloosa’s old rubbers were thoroughly soaked, 
and their dresses were wet from the melting 
snow. 

Kaloosa pushed open the rude door and as- 
sisted her mother to a bed on the floor in a corner 
of the tiny dwelling. Then she gathered a few 
sticks together, and touching a match to them 
started a fire in the crazy stove. 

While they had been begging from door to 
door that morning before going to the market, 
some one had given them a pound of tea. 
Kaloosa put a handful of it into a teapot, for 
Indians drink their tea incredibly strong, and 
made her mother a good cup of it. 


206 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


After drinking it Nancy felt better, and sat 
up on her bed of spruce to look at her little 
daughter. 

“ Kaloosa is a good papoose,” she said in Mic- 
mac ; “ she cares for her mother, and in the life- 
time of her father she never stepped between 
him and the fire, nor did she cross his fish spear. 
The good Sasus will reward her.” 

By Sasus Nancy meant Jesus. In common 
with nearly all the Micmacs she had given up 
the spirit worship of her forefathers, and was a 
Roman Catholic. She and Kaloosa said their 
prayers, attended mass, and went to confession. 
If they were in a part of the country where 
there was no chapel in which to assemble a serv- 
ice was held in a wigwam. They called Jesus, 
Sasus, and in their prayer books were extracts 
from the Bible with psalms and hymns. 

Kaloosa looked kindly at her mother, and 
Nancy continued : “ Will the little papoose sing 
to her mother some of the songs of the mis- 
sionary ? ” 

Kaloosa lifted up her little plaintive voice and 
half sang, half chanted a touching song written 
by a good old Baptist missionary, who w r ent 
among the Roman Catholic Indians of Nova 
Scotia a few years ago, and without provoking 
controversy read the Bible to them in their own 
language, and sang beautiful hymns. 

The song that Kaloosa sang he had written 
himself, and he called it “ The Dying Indian’s 
Dream.” John Paul, a converted Indian, was 
the subject of it, and the first verses related his 


THE TWO KATOOSAS 


207 


skill as a hunter, and his toil in his humble 
home at u basket, bark, and broom,” to gain the 
scanty fare doled grudgingly out to him by the 
white people who had taken the land of his 
sires. 

At last he fell ill — consumption, the scourge 
of the Micmac tribe, was eating away his 
strength — and the poem describes his people sit- 
ting about him waiting to see their father die. 
He had become very thin, his flesh was gone, 
naught save the breathing skeleton remained to 
him, yet he was cheerful and happy. He slept 
and dreamed that he was in heaven in an im- 
mense golden palace, and little Kaloosa crouch- 
ing over the fire told what he saw : 

Oh, I have been in heaven ; 

To me it has been given 

To see the throne of God — the angels clothed in light, 
And ransomed spirits in the purest white. 

They knew my name, 

And who I am, 

And whence I came. 

I heard them loud through heaven proclaim, 

Make room ! make room ! 

John Paul has come ! John Paul has come ! 


When the papoose finished her song she too 
fell asleep ; hour after hour went by and she 
still crouched by the fire. Such a pitiful little 
figure she was, so pale and haggard, so miser- 
ably dressed, so utterly unlike the straight, 
graceful, prosperous-looking girl who had lived 
so many years before and for whom she was 
named. 


208 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


Late in the afternoon she was startled by a 
knock at the door. She roused herself, and 
after a hasty glance at her mother went to let 
in the stranger. 

It was the missionary himself who stood 
before her. He was a tall, remarkable-looking 
old man, and he held a staff in his hand. A 
cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, his hair 
and beard were long and white, and he wore a 
fur cap pulled down over his ears. 

u Good-day, little papoose,” he said putting his 
staff in the corner of the room and seating him- 
self on an upturned box by the fire. “ How 
goes it with the mother ? ” 

He spoke Micmac with a pure and correct 
accent. No white man in Nova Scotia knew as 
much of the Indian language as he did, and 
Nancy, who was always glad to see him, raised 
herself up in her bed. 

She put a great many questions to him about 
the different members of her tribe who lived in 
other parts of the province, for the missionary 
kept traveling all the time and never stayed long 
in one place. 

He answered all her inquiries. Then he 
pulled a little book from his pocket and asked, 
u What shall I read to-day, Nancy?” 

“ Tell of the good Sasus on the cross,” said 
Nancy softly. 

The missionary, holding the Testament in his 
hand, read slowly to her the account of the cruci- 
fixion, putting the English into sweet-sounding 
Micmac as he went along. 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


209 


“ It is sad — sad,” murmured Nancy dropping 
her head and shedding slow tears. “ There is no 
white man now as good and kind as Sasus.” 

The missionary read on, and presently she ex- 
claimed joyfully, “ Do we not think the same 
things after all ? Say the words of forgiveness.” 

“ Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do,” repeated the missionary. 

“ Nancy will try to say that,” said the Mic- 
mac woman. “ Father, forgive the white people 
when they enter the camp of the Micmacs, 
which are dear to them, and pull our things 
about and say, what is this ? and what is that ? 
and Father forgive them for selling the bad 
drink to Nancy.” 

She hung her head on her breast in shame, 
and little Kaloosa averted her eyes from her, 
while the missionary closed his book and re- 
marked kindly, “ Jesus will help Nancy to give 
up the drink.” 

“ Nancy has asked him,” said the woman in 
a low voice ; “ but the devil takes her by the 
shoulder and says, Come.” 

“ Kaloosa,” said the missionary turning to the 
child, “have you recited the verses for your 
mother that you promised to learn for me while 
I was away ? ” 

“ Many times, good teacher,” replied the little 
girl. 

“ Say them once again,” requested Nancy. 

Kaloosa turned her face toward her mother 
and repeated the following lines with touching 
humility of accent : 


o 


210 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


In de dark wood, no Indian nigh, 

Den me look hebun and send up cry 
Upon my knees so low ; 

Dat God on high in shiny place, 

See me in night wid teary face, 

My heart him tell me so. 

Him send him angel take me care, 

Him come himself and hear my prayer, 

If Indian heart do pray; 

Him see me now, him know me here, 

Him say: “ Poor Indian, neber fear, 

Me wid you night and day.” 

So me lub God wid inside heart, 

He fight for me, he takum part, 

He sabum life before ; 

God lub poor Indian in de wood, 

And me lub he and dat be good, 

Me pray him two time more. 

When me be old, me head be gray, 

Den him no leabe me, so him say, 

“ Me wid you till you die ” ; 

Den take me up to shiny place, 

See white man, red man, black man face, 

All happy like on high. 

“ Nancy will pray again,” said the Micmac 
woman who had listened to her daughter with a 
radiant face. “ Let the missionary hearken, and 
write the words in his book.” 

She slipped on her knees, and the missionary 
felt his heart melt within him as he listened to 
the pathetic prayer for forgiveness and safe- 
keeping from her besetting sin of drunkenness 
that the poor woman put up. 

“ Sasus will hear Nancy this time,” he said 


THE TWO KALOOSAS 


211 


when they were again sitting around the fire. 
“ I think that she prayed from ‘ inside heart.’ 
Now I must say good-bye to you. I shall come 
to see you to-morrow ; then not again for many 
moons. Now listen : I wish Nancy and her 
daughter to think over this plan before another 
sleep. Away in the town yonder is a warm 
place where Nancy can go for the winter where 
the devil will not tempt her as he does here 
in the cold and the darkness.” 

“Are there walls around the warm place?” 
asked Nancy looking out through the window of 
her hut at the fringe of an extensive wood. 

“ Yes ; but in the spring Nancy can return to 
her home, and in the meantime the little pa- 
poose can be at school among the white people, 
where she will learn many things that will 
enable her to be a teacher among her own tribe 
when she grows up, if she wills it.” 

“ Will the papoose be with her mother ? ” 
asked Nancy. 

“No,” said the missionary ; “ I am sorry to say 
that you must be separated ; but it is not always 
winter. Look forward to the time of birds and 
the summer.” 

“Does the good Sasus wish us to do it?” 
asked Nancy wistfully. 

“ Ask him,” said the missionary. “ At sun- 
down to-morrow I will be with you. Adieu, for 
the present,” and pronouncing a soft Micmac 
blessing he went slowly down the narrow path. 

Nancy stood in the doorway looking after 

him. 


212 


THE TWO KAEOOSAS 


“ In the olden times,” said the woman stretch- 
ing out her hands toward the large pines bend- 
ing toward their dwelling, “ the forests and the 
meadows belonged to our forefathers. Now they 
are no longer ours. We, who made the earth 
tremble, must serve the pale faces. We must do 
as the missionary bids us, my daughter.” 

“ In the olden times we had many things,” 
said the little papoose ; “ but there is one thing 
which the missionary says is the greatest of good 
gifts that we did not have.” 

“ What is that, my daughter ? ” 

“ The love of Sasus,” said the child gently. 
Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. “ True words, 
my daughter. Better the present days than the 
old ones.” 





I’age 213. 


VIII 


BUNNY BOY 



£HEN Diadem Gale got ready for school 
on a rainy morning and went trotting 
down the street she looked, as the 
housemaid said, “ too sweet for any- 
thing.” 

first place she pinned up her frock, 
which was always rather a long one. Then she 
put on high rubber boots, a little mackintosh 
with a cape, and with her cap on the back of 
her head and her blue umbrella in her hand, she 
was ready for the worst rainstorm that could 
come along. 

People always stared hard at her on rainy 
mornings, — she looked so comfortable as she 
jogged along the sidewalk, — while on fine days 
no one ever seemed to notice her more than they 
did any of the other little girls who ran up and 
down the streets. 

Her brother Dan always carried her bag of 
books for her on rainy days. On this particular 
day he had had his breakfast early and had gone 
on before, and Diadem as she hurried toward 
the school was quite alone. 

I wish I could give you a perfect description 

213 


214 


BUNNY BOY 


of the town in which Diadem lived, it was such 
a charming place. Whenever Diadem was visit- 
ing and any one asked her where her home was, 
she replied, “ I live in the city of Fredericton, 
on the beautiful River St. John.” 

This river, which is a Canadian one, is the 
loveliest feature of a smiling landscape in the 
province of New Brunswick. It goes leisurely 
toward the sea, sometimes winding between 
waving forests, sometimes over the broad and 
fertile intervale lands, which are green and 
luxuriant all through the summer, and where 
the crane rises silently from clumps of rushes as 
the river boats go by. 

Sometimes the river passes little villages and 
larger towns ; sometimes it is broad and peaceful 
and looks as if it were melting away into some 
wide lake ; at other times the banks are closer to- 
gether, and it goes hurrying along as if in haste 
to wash against the wharves and docks of the 
big city where it says farewell to the province 
and rushes into the embrace of the restless sea. 

So much for the river. But we are going to 
speak of Diadem’s town, which is nearly one 
hundred miles from its mouth. The river is 
charming, the town equally so. It is like a park. 
Tall trees stand over nearly all of the pretty 
houses, and just leave sunlight enough to keep 
children strong and well and to make the flow- 
ers grow in the lovely gardens. Outside the 
town are lovely pastures and grand old forests 
where the children go for nuts in the autumn 
days. 


BUNNY BOY 


215 


On this day the town did not look so attractive 
as usual, because it was raining. Diadem moved 
her umbrella aside to look up at the dripping 
tree branches. She was always sorry for the 
birds when it rained. 

The trees in the town of Fredericton were 
full of birds. The blackbirds that usually build 
their nests in the woods, lodged all through the 
town, even in the business quarter in the 
branches of the enormous elms. Nobody was 
allowed to molest them, and they lived happily 
along with goldfinches, swallows, sparrows, 
woodpeckers, robins, and many other kinds of 
birds. 

It was a celebrated place for birds, and the 
people of the town were rewarded for their 
kindness to them by the protection their little 
feathered friends gave to their gardens. The 
leaves of the trees were always glossy and green, 
and no grubs devoured the fruit and foliage in 
the gardens and orchards, for all through the 
spring and summer little beaks were busy eating 
thousands and thousands of worms and insects. 

When Diadem reached the schoolhouse she 
shook the rain from her umbrella, stood it in a 
corner of the cloak-room, hung up her wet 
mackintosh, and entered the school-room. 

The bell had not yet rung, and the children 
were scattered in groups about the room talking 
to each other. Diadem joined them, and her 
happy voice chimed in with those of the other 
children. 

She had her back to the door and was not 


2l6 


BUNNY BOY 


among the first to look upon rather a strange 
sight. 

The teacher, Miss Julian, entered the room 
and behind her walked a little gray cat, drawing 
a tiny cart by a string that it held in its mouth. 

It was a very odd thing for a cat to do. The 
children could hardly credit their eyesight, and 
some of them laughed, while others, looking at 
Miss Julian’s disturbed face, said “hush.” 

She glanced over her shoulder as she took her 
seat, and could not help smiling herself as she 
watched the little cat drawing the cart along the 
floor. Then she covered her eyes with her hands, 
and the children silently stood peering over one 
another’s shoulders at the curious spectacle of 
the little cat, which was playing with the cart as 
intently as if it were alone, dragging it back- 
ward and forward and occasionally pushing it 
with its paws. 

Miss Julian touched the bell. “Go to your 
seats, children.” 

They all sat down ; then instead of opening 
the school with a hymn, as they usually did, 
Miss Julian began to speak to them leaning her 
head on her hands and sometimes putting her 
handkerchief to her eyes. 

“Oh, children, I feel so badly,” she said. 
“ You have heard me speak of the little de- 
formed boy in the house where I board who 
died a week ago. This little cat, that was his 
pet, is making his mother so unhappy that I 
have brought him here to give to one of you.” 

The children were as quiet as mice, and after 


BUNNY BOY 


21 7 


a minute’s pause Miss Julian went on : “ The 
cat was the child’s playmate, and he cannot 
realize that his master is dead. He is looking 
for him all the time, and he stands outside his 
door or draws this little cart up and down, 
hoping that Tarry will come back to play with 
him. He mews pitifully too, and Tarry’s mother 
says that she will not keep him in her lonely 
house, but will give him to some boy or girl 
who will be kind to him.” 

“Oh, the poor little pussy-cat,” burst from 
Diadem’s sympathetic heart. 

Miss Julian smiled at her. “ Do you wish to 
have him, Diadem ? I think he would be happy 
with you.” 

Diadem went from her seat up to the platform 
and stood over the little gray animal. 

“ Ask him to come to you,” said Miss Julian. 
“ Tarry called him Bunny Boy because he is 
said to be part rabbit.” 

“ Bunny Boy, Bunny Boy,” said Diadem, ex- 
tending her fingers, “ come to Diadem, she will 
comfort you.” 

“ Meow, meow,” said the little lonely animal, 
dropping the string of the cart to go to her. 

“You see he is a very pretty creature,” said 
Miss Julian. “ Every one admires that long gray 
hair, and his disposition is something remarka- 
ble. He will play games and follow you more 
like a gentle dog than a cat. I never have seen 
an animal like him, and you will get to love him 
dearly. Now, children, we must get to lessons. 
I am late this morning, but I feel quite unnerved 


218 


BUNNY BOY 


thinking of the dear patient lad we miss so 
sorely. However, I must remember how per- 
fectly happy he is now and that we shall go to 
him some day.” 

“What shall I do with Bunny Boy?” asked 
Diadem. She had taken the cat in her arms 
and sat hugging him with a very happy face. 

“ He will sit here under my desk till recess, 
and then we shall decide who is to have him.” 

Diadem got the cat subject to her father’s 
approval. 

When school was over that morning she 
trotted home with her new pet in her arms, 
while Dan trudged behind her carrying her 
books, her umbrella, and the little cart. 

“ Father, father,” she exclaimed, entering the 
dining room, “ look here ” ; and she deposited 
the gray cat on Mr. Gale’s knee. 

“ What’s this ? ” said that gentleman, looking 
up. “ What’s this ? ” 

“It is the best cat that ever lived,” said Dia- 
dem. “ Miss Julian says it is. His grandfather 
was a rabbit and he never scratched any one in 
his life.” 

“I have no reason to doubt Miss Julian’s 
word,” said Mr. Gale; “but Diadem, you have 
such a succession of the best animals in the 
world and they so often die and leave you, 
thereby wounding your feelings, that I don’t 
know about letting you have another.” 

“This is a healthy cat, father; I don’t think 
he will die.” 


BUNNY BOY 


219 


“ It isn’t Diadem’s fault that the animals die,” 
said Dan stoutly. “ If some of those girls that 
bring her sick and dying creatures would keep 
away she would be all right.” 

“Well, I don’t want to see that graveyard 
any larger,” said Mr. Gale, taking up his paper, 
“ nor to see you playing grave-digger quite so 
often, Dan.” 

“Who is talking about graves?” asked a 
young lady who at that moment appeared in the 
doorway. 

“ Oh, Miss Netta, Miss Netta,” said Diadem, 
precipitating herself upon her. “ Have you 
come to take dinner with us? How good in 
you.” 

“Yes, I have,” said the young lady, returning 
Diadem’s caresses. “ How do you do, Dan ? ” 

“ How do you do ? ” said the boy gruffly, and 
sidling nearer to Diadem. 

They all sat down to the table, Miss Netta 
taking the place that had been left vacant since 
the death of Mrs. Gale, three years before. 

“ If you don’t mind my returning to such a 
dismal subject,” said the young lady vivaciously, 
“ will some one tell me what was meant by 
Dan’s digging graves ? ” 

“Have you never heard of Diadem’s ceme- 
tery ? ” asked Mr. Gale. 

“ Never. What is it ? ” 

“ All the animals round about that are sick, 
or in distress, or dying, take refuge or are 
brought here, and Diadem nurses them till they 
depart this life. Then there are tears and sobs 


220 


BUNNY BOY 


and I have to console her while Dan digs a 
grave and plants a tombstone over the departed 
favorite. I must show you a photograph that I 
took of her two years ago where Dan is comfort- 
ing her.” 

“ How very trying for you, Diadem,” said 
Miss Netta. 

“ It is very bad for me,” said Diadem gravely, 
“ but it is worse for the poor little things that 
have to suffer.” 

“And do you save none of your wrecks?” 
asked Miss Netta. 

“ Why, you know Grum Growdy,” said Dia- 
dem merrily ; “he was a wreck.” 

“That queer old raven,” said Miss Netta. 

“Yes,” went on Diadem ; “he fell out of a 
tree one day and went staggering about till he 
frightened Mrs. Denham and she gave him to 
me. Cook put some medicine down his throat 
and he fell over as if he was dead ; but when 
the grave was ready he jumped up and said, 

‘ Ha ! ha ! ’ then Mrs. Denham wouldn’t take 
him back.” 

“ Mrs. Denham was a sensible woman,” said 
Mr. Gale ; “ that bird is the plague of our lives.” 

Diadem looked anxiously at their guest. 
“Father doesn’t mean that, Miss Netta; he is 
good to all my pets. I think he is the best man 
that ever lived.” 

“So do I,” said Miss Netta dryly. 

Dan stared at her half-angrily, but she paid no 
attention to him and went on with her dinner. 

“Well, father, what about the cat?” asked 


BUNNY BOY 


221 


Diadem, when she had finished her strawberries 
and cream and was about to prepare for school. 

“ Where is it? ” asked Mr. Gale evasively. 

“ Here, father ” ; and raising her napkin Dia- 
dem showed Bunny Boy, who had been curled 
up on her lap during the meal. “ I thought I 
would let him stay close to me because he might 
be lonely,” she said apologetically. “ May I 
keep him, father?” 

“Ask Miss Netta,” he said laughingly, putting 
aside the hand that his little daughter laid on 
his wrist. 

“ Miss Netta ! ” exclaimed Diadem ; “ she won’t 
care, she lives away across the bridge.” 

“ Oh no, she doesn’t,” said her father. 

Diadem looked at the head of the table. 
“ Have you moved to town, Miss Netta? ” 

“Yes,” said the young lady composedly; “I 
was married to your father this morning.” 

Dan noisily pushed back his chair and went 
to the window, but Diadem continued to gaze 
first at her father and then at his wife. 

“I suppose I should have told you and Dan,” 
said Mr. Gale, “but I hate a fuss, and I knew 
you would ask a great many questions. How- 
ever, I want to tell you this — you especially, my 
boy,” and he glanced toward the window, “ that 
I had in mind the fact that you two children 
are growing up and need a mother’s care.” 

“ I hate stepmothers,” said Dan angrily. 

“Do you?” said Mrs. Gale calmly. “You 
won’t hate me. The boys have been cramming 
you with nonsense.” 


222 


BUNNY BOY 


“ No they haven’t,” said Dan. 

“ Go upstairs to your room and see what your 
stepmother has brought you from St. John and 
perhaps you won’t hate her so decidedly,” said 
Mr. Gale. 

Diadem’s face was quivering. “All the little 
girls but me have mothers,” she said, putting 
the cat gently on the floor. “Is it true ? Are 
you my very own mother now ? ” 

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Gale. 

Diadem ran to bury her face in her lap. 
“You lovely, lovely darling ! ” Then she drew 
back and looked at her. “Aren’t you very 
young to get married ? ” 

“ I am not so young as I look.” 

“I should think,” remarked Diadem to her 
father, “ that you would like an old woman.” 

“You naughty Diadem,” said Mrs. Gale, 
shaking her head at her ; “ your papa isn’t an 
old man .’ 5 

“ ’Course he isn’t,” said Diadem ; “he runs races 
like a boy with me and Dan. Only, old women 
are nice, and they mend your clothes and get 
good dinners like cook.” 

“ Would you like me to send Miss Netta away 
and get some one like cook ? ” asked Mr. Gale. 

“ Oh, no, no, father ; ” and Diadem stretched 
out an appealing hand toward him. “ Don’t 
send her away now we’ve just got her, she’ll be 
such fun. Will you ? ” 

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said. 

“ It’s time to go to school,” said Dan, brush- 
ing by her as he went toward the door. 


BUNNY BOY 223 

“You may have a half-holiday to-day if you 
like,” said Mr. Gale. 

“I don’t like, sir,” said Dan willfully; and 
he hurried away. 

“What will you do, Diadem?” asked her 
father. 

The child looked anxiously after her brother. 
“ Dan is cross about something,” she said. 

“ Perhaps you had better go with him,” sug- 
gested Mr. Gale. “ Netta will take care of your 
cat for you. Come here, pet,” and he kissed 
her, saying, “ My own little girl.” Then he 
stood by his wife at the window, watching the 
two children hurrying down the walk to the gate. 

“ See her little head going,” said Mrs. Gale. 
“ She is remonstrating with him and enumer- 
ating the advantages connected with having a 
stepmother. Isn’t she a little jewel ? ” 

“ Yes ; but she has a temper,” said Mr. Gale, 
“ a pretty stiff one sometimes ; but you will 
have patience with her, Netta.” 

“I’ll need to,” said his pretty black-eyed wife, 
“for I have one myself.” 

That evening Mrs. Gale left her husband on 
the front veranda and went all over the house in 
search of Diadem. Finally, while looking out 
at one of the windows she saw her sitting on a 
rustic bench under one of the elm trees at the 
back of the house. 

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” 
she asked, going out to her and seating herself 
on the bench. 


224 


BUNNY BOY 


“Just talking to my cat,” said the little girl 
placidly, looking down at Bunny Boy who lay 
on a cushion beside her. 

“ Do you enjoy that ? ” asked Mrs. Gale curi- 
ously, “ sitting here with no company but this 
animal ? ” 

“It’s better than a party,” said Diadem 
dreamily. “The little cat is unhappy, he is 
only just beginning to purr. Do you know his 
master has left him? That makes an animal 
sorry. Poor little Bunny Boy. I shall be good 
to you and wheel the cart for you.” 

“ I am not very fond of animals ” said Mrs. 
Gale. 

Diadem’s face fell, but her new mother put her 
finger under her chin and said lightly. “ Don’t 
feel badly, little girl ; perhaps you can educate 
me. I don’t know anything about them.” 

“ I’m a little worried about Grum Growdy,” 
said Diadem. 

Mrs. Gale began to laugh. “ That ridiculous 
bird ; I have not seen him to-day.” 

“ Why do you laugh at him ? ” asked the little 
girl. 

“ He is so pompous and severe-looking ; I 
cannot realize that his chief delight is in playing 
tricks.” 

“ He is very jealous,” said Diadem with a 
sigh. “ He won’t like you and Bunny Boy.” 

“ Let us hope that he will soon get over it,” 
said Mrs. Gale. “ Where is Dan ? ” 

“He has gone off to play with some boys,” 
said Diadem. “ He has just left me.” 


BUNNY BOY 


225 


“ Oh, that is why you did not come and sit 
with us,” said Mrs. Gale, gently pinching the tip 
of one of Diadem’s pink ears. “You are a good 
little sister; will you come now? ” 

“ He will soon be back,” said Diadem. 

“ Well, then I will bear you company till we 
hear him returning. Tell me more about your 
animals, won’t you ? ” 

“ I have only Grum Growdy now and Bunny 
Boy,” said Diadem. “ Oh yes, and I have the 
blackbirds.” 

“ The blackbirds ! can you pet them ? ” 

“ I don’t exactly pet them,” said Diadem. 
“ But when the little ones fall out of the trees I 
put them back.” 

“ I didn’t know birds ever did such a thing. 
Why don’t the parents keep them in ? ” 

“I’ll have to explain,” said Diadem, looking 
up at the branching elm above them. “You 
know big birds are like fathers and mothers. 
They have to work for their little children and 
when they go out in the morning I suppose they 
say to them, ‘ Birdies, be good and stay in the 
nest till I come home,’ but the little birds are 
like children again and they don’t mind their 
parents. They get on the edge of the nest and 
looking out they say, ‘ I think I will try to hop 
on another branch,’ but they fall, and when they 
find themselves on the ground they cry for the 
old birds to come and pick them up.” 

“How very odd,” said Mrs. Gale; “I never 
heard of this. I suppose it is because my life has 
been mostly spent in a city.” 

p 


226 


BUNNY BOY 


“Then cats come along,” said Diadem, “and 
very sad things happen.” 

“ I suppose they eat them.” 

“ When they find them they do ; but first the 
cat roams all about, searching in the long grass 
for the little birds that peep to the old ones, and 
the old ones are nearly crazy and swoop down 
pecking at the cat and brushing it with their 
wings to try to frighten it away. They are such 
good mothers and fathers.” 

“And what do you do?” 

“ I run whenever I hear the blackbirds call- 
ing, and they know me, and cook brings a chair 
and stands on it and puts the little bird on a 
twig, and it goes step by step up near its nest, 
where it hears the old ones calling to it.” 

“ Doesn’t it go into the nest ? ” 

“ No ; when a little bird once falls out it does 
not go back again. I think it sits near its 
parents all night.” 

“How interesting,” said Mrs. Gale. “Tell 
me something more about your birds, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ There is one very unkind thing they do that 
makes me ashamed of them,” said Diadem. 

“What is it?” 

“ Why, they push little weak birds out of the 
nest.” 

“ Which does it ? ” 

“ I guess it must be the father,” said Diadem 
innocently. “ I don’t see how the mother could 
do such a thing.” 

“ Nor I,” said her mother; “ but perhaps there 


BUNNY BOY 227 

are bad blackbirds just as there are bad men 
and women.” 

“I think that must be so,” said Diadem. 
“Anyway, I find little sick birds on the ground 
' with their feathers all ruffled, and I take them 
in the house and feed them and powder them.” 

“ Powder them,” repeated Mrs. Gale. “What 
is that for ? ” 

Diadem laughed merrily. “ Oh, it is such a 
funny sight, Miss Netta.” 

“You mustn’t call me Miss Netta now,” inter- 
rupted Mrs. Gale. “ What will you say? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Diadem with a puz- 
zled face. “You seem too young to be just 
mother, and yet I feel as if you were my 
mother.” 

“ Call me Mother Netta, then.” 

“ That is just the thing,” and Diadem reached 
out a hand to squeeze Mrs. Gale’s fingers, “ dear 
Mother Netta.” 

Mrs. Gale laughed too ; then she said : “ Please 
continue about the powdering of the birds.” 

“ It is this way,” said Diadem. “ You know, 
Mother Netta, that young birds in nests can’t 
take baths like old ones, but they can keep 
themselves clean by pecking themselves with 
their beaks or by having their parents do it. 
Well, when a bird gets ill it neglects itself and 
its parents neglect it, and horrid little red things 
get on it and worry it, and when it falls out on 
the grass I find these vermin all over it. That 
is when I put on the powder which kills them. 
The little bird gets back its strength and I feed 


228 


BUNNY BOY 


it, and when it is well I put it on a tree and it 
climbs up and goes to its parents.” 

“Hush,” said Mrs. Gale suddenly, “there is 
some one calling you.” 

While they had been talking it had become 
quite dark, but it was a warm night so they had 
not gone into the house. 

“It is Dan,” said Diadem, “he has come 
home ; ” and clasping Bunny Boy to her breast 
she got up and went toward the back door. 

“ Why, Dan,” Mrs. Gale heard her exclaim ; 
then she too rose and approached the boy. 

Diadem had drawn him into the rays of light 
that streamed out through the open kitchen 
door. 

Such a sorry-looking object as the boy was, 
coat hung over his arm, his shirt torn, his face 
bruised, his hair disordered, and his mouth, 
against which he pressed a handkerchief, was 
cut and bleeding. 

“ Have you been fighting ? ” asked Diadem. 

“Yes,” he mumbled. 

“ Oh, you poor boy,” said Diadem in a mothr 
erly tone. “ Come into the kitchen and I will 
attend to you.” 

Dan drew back. “No, I don’t want any one 
to see me. Is that Miss Netta?” And he 
peered through the darkness at her. 

“Yes,” said Diadem; “but she won’t tell. 
Come upstairs ; ” and she ran nimbly into the 
house and up the back stairway to Dan’s room. 

She was lighting the lamp as he entered. 


BUNNY BOY 


229 


“I’m in a fearful mess,” he muttered, throw- 
ing his cap on the bed and surveying himself 
in the glass. “ Just look at my lips, they’re like 
a dozen ordinary ones.” 

“ I wish boys wouldn’t fight you,” said Dia- 
dem, averting her glance from his swollen mouth, 
while she looked in a drawer for a case of court 
plaster that had on it the words, “ I cure all 
wounds but those of love.” 

“ I told you I’d try not to fight any more,” 
said Dan gruffly, “ but I just had to this time ; 
you’d say so too if you knew.” 

“ It’s b — b — brutal to fight,” sobbed Diadem, 
trying to wink away the tears in her eyes so that 
she could see to cut the plaster. “I wish boys 
wouldn’t tease you.” 

“ It’s my fault as much as theirs,” said Dan, 
“except to-night,” he added doggedly; “I was 
nagged.” 

A few minutes later his hands and face were 
washed, his hair was brushed, and his lips were 
ornamented with narrow strips of pink plaster. 

“ Now you look better,” said Diadem with 
satisfaction. 

“ Yes ; but I’m still a sight,” said Dan shortly. 
“ I can’t go downstairs. Get me my books, will 
you, like a daisy ; I’ll have to study up here 
to-night.” 

“ Your eyes are very red,” said Diadem. “ I’ll 
read your lessons to you if you will help me with 
the hard words. I know mine.” 

“All right,” said Dan, throwing himself into 
an arm-chair and trying to look like his father. 


230 


BUNNY BOY 


“I wish all the fellows had a sister like you. 
I’ll not fight any more, honor bright, unless the 
same thing happens again.”. 

Bunny Boy walked daintily along the bed and 
rubbed his head against Dan’s arm. 

“ Poor pussy,” said Dan, stroking him. “ Poor 
young pussy ; lost your master, did you ? Well, 
you have fallen into good hands. Diadem will 
pet you till you don’t know whether you are a 
cat or a king.” 

When Mrs. Gale left the children, she went 
into the parlor and took a seat in a dusky corner. 
She was thinking deeply and paid no attention 
to the sound of voices and occasional laughter 
that floated in to her from the veranda except 
once, when she murmured to herself that her 
husband must have a caller. 

After a while she heard the sound of her own 
name in Mr. Gale’s voice. “Netta, Netta, 
where are you ? ” 

“ I am here,” she said ; and her husband, 
stepping in through the open window, felt his 
way across the room like a blind man till he 
reached the sofa where she sat. 

“Are you homesick,” he asked, “sitting here 
alone? I thought you were with the children.” 

“No,” she replied, “I am not homesick; I 
have been sitting with Diadem till she left me 
to go to Dan. What are you laughing about ? ” 

“ I ought not to laugh ; it is a wrong thing 
in view of the circumstances,” said Mr. Gale, 
with another chuckle, “ but really it is too ab- 
surd.” 


BUNNY BOY 


231 


“ What is absurd ? ” 

“ Dan has been fighting for you, my dear. 
Sanders, who has just been in, was telling me 
about it. He saw and heard the whole thing 
from his window. Some of the boys, Dan 
among them, were playing baseball in a field 
near by, and in the course of the game the 
coacher told Dan to run as if his stepmother 
was after him. The reference displeased Dan, 
and he told him to hold his tongue, which the 
coacher wouldn’t do. After the game they 
appealed to their fists. Of course Dan got 
whipped, for the coacher is a big fellow. How- 
ever, Sanders says that public sentiment was 
with Dan, for he nobly vindicated the right of 
a boy to have a stepmother and to approve of 
her if he wishes to do so ; and three cheers for 
Dan’s stepmother were given by the lads lest he 
should feel cast down by his defeat. He has 
been the terrible fighter among the small boys 
till Diamond and I persuaded him to stop. I 
hope he isn’t going to break out again.” 

“ I thought he didn’t like me,” said Mrs. Gale 
quietly. 

“ Oh, yes he does, he is delighted with you ; 
but he is as stubborn as I am, and being older 
than Diadem, he guessed how things were going, 
and being piqued because I did not consult him, 
made up his mind, as many children do, that a 
stepmother, because she is a stepmother, must 
necessarily be disagreeable. You should have 
seen his face this morning when I told him that 
you refused to take a wedding trip because you 


232 


BUNNY BOY 


knew it might cause him and Diadem to fancy 
that you were taking their father from them. I 
knew that he felt sorry for his shabby treatment 
of you. Give him time, give him time, my 
dear, and he will come around.” 

Mrs. Gale sat silent for a few minutes, then 
she got up, and drawing her hand from her hus- 
band’s, said, “ Good-bye for a little while.” 

“Where are you going?” he inquired. 

“ I wish to see whether Diadem is in bed. It 
seems to me that she sits up rather late for a 
little girl.” 

“ Of course she does,” returned Mr. Gale. “ I 
told you that she isn’t properly looked after. 
The servants spoil her.” 

Mrs. Gale went dancing upstairs just as Dan 
and Diadem were accustomed to do, and her 
husband smiled as he stood in the lighted hall 
and watched her. 

Diadem sat curled up in a chair reading in a 
sleepy voice to Dan, who had undressed and 
gotten into bed. 

He pulled the clothes up over his head when 
he saw his mother coming, but she did not look 
at him. 

“ Don’t you want to go to bed, Diadem ? ” she 
asked. “It is getting late. I will read to Dan.” 

“ No, no,” said the boy hastily ; “ put out the 
lights, Diadem, and go away. I know everything 
now.” 

The little girl rose, and pressing her red lips 
together to keep from yawning, kissed Dan good- 


BUNNY BOY 


233 


“ I will put out the lamp,” said Mrs. Gale. 
“ And Diadem, after you are undressed I will 
come and read to you.” 

“ Thank you, Mother Netta,” said the little 
girl. “ I will keep awake till you come.” And 
she went to her room. 

“ So you fought for me, did you ? ” said Mrs. 
Gale, going up to the bed and gently drawing 
the sheet away from Dan’s disfigured face.” 

“Yes,” he growled; “but don’t look at me 
unless you want to get a fright. My right eye 
is closed, and my mouth feels as if it was half 
way up my cheek.” 

“ Well, I am going to kiss you, anyway,” said 
Mrs. Gale, “ and say I am much obliged to you ; 
but ” 

“ But you don’t want me to do it again,” said 
Dan. “ I know, you women are all alike. Well, 
I’ll tell you, I’ll lick any fellow who says a word 
against you if it takes me all my time and if my 
mouth wriggles round to the back of my neck, 
so you needn’t talk.” 

“Do you enjoy fighting?” asked Mrs. Gale 
curiously. “ I don’t know much about boys.” 

“ I enjoy getting at a fellow that makes me 
mad,” said Dan. “I wish you would leave me 
alone now ; I don’t like to have you looking at 
me.” 

“ May I read to you first if I turn my back ? ” 
asked Mrs. Gale. 

“Yes, if it don’t take long. My head ” 

“ Your head aches, of course,” said Mrs. Gale. 
“ How stupid I am.” 


234 


BUNNY BOY 


“ It doesn’t matter,” said Dan. “ I wish I had 
not mentioned it.” 

“ I know something that will cure it,” said 
Mrs. Gale. “ Just wait an instant.” 

She fairly flew out of the room and returned 
with a bottle of something cool that she rubbed 
gently on his forehead. 

Dan pretended that he did not like to have 
her kneeling beside his bed and waiting on him, 
but she said, “ Hush, you funny boy ; I like to 
have my own way too. I shall not leave you 
while you are suffering. Now I am going to sing 
you to sleep. You are too tired to listen to a 
Bible story this evening.” 

Mrs. Gale sang one hymn after another — good 
old hymns that Dan had heard since he was a 
baby. His little dogged face grew peaceful and 
happy ; and at last he murmured, “ My own 
mother used to sing like that to me.” 

“ Did she ? ” said Mrs. Gale. Then she added 
softly, a Your mother was a very good woman. 
I shall be happy if I can be half so good.” 

“You are young yet,” said Dan encouragingly ; 
“perhaps you will be later on.” 

Mrs. Gale suppressed a smile ; then she asked 
him if his head was better. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ my headache is gone ; 
but I would not tell you before because I liked 
to hear you sing. When I listen to you I feel 
as if I could toe the mark all the time ; but in the 
morning it will pass away I suppose.” 

“ I will just sing one more hymn,” said Mrs. 
Gale, u about the wandering sheep and the 


BUNNY BOY 


235 


shepherd. I am a very poor Christian myself, 
Dan ; but I know the Good Shepherd will keep 
me in the fold if I ask him. Shall I ask him 
for you too ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dan, “I wish you would.” 

Mrs. Gale knelt by his bed and put up a prayer 
to the loving Shepherd for the safe keeping of 
two wandering lambs, then she tucked him in 
and left him to a dreamless slumber. 

Diadem fell asleep that evening with one arm 
thrown protectingly around Bunny Boy who 
politely remained within his shelter till he saw 
that his young mistress would not be aware of 
his departure. 

He had noticed that the door had been left 
slightly ajar and jumping on the floor he went 
in search of the boy who had reminded him a 
little of the dear gentle lad who had died and 
gone to heaven. 

True, Darry had been a frail and delicate lad, 
while Dan was sturdy in appearance and man- 
ners ; but he was a boy, and strange to say, to 
boys rather than to girls, did the affections of this 
timid little cat go out. 

He walked delicately across the hall, stepped 
over the threshold of the door and sprang quietly 
on Dan’s bed. 

First, he walked up to the pillow to make 
sure that it was the boy he wanted, then with 
a quiet purr of delight he touched him with his 
pink nose, and curling up on the foot of the bed 
went to sleep. 


BUNNY BOY 


236 

Cats do not sleep so long at night as girls and 
boys do, perhaps because they have so many 
naps through the day, and by sunrise Bunny 
Boy had opened his eyes and was listening to 
the birds waking up in the trees outside. He 
heard at first faint twitterings as if the robins 
and blackbirds were saying to each other, “ Time 
to get up, time to get up.” Then at last there 
were lower notes and snatches of song, and soon 
the older birds were all away looking for break- 
fast for the younger ones, which were peeping 
and calling to them from their nests. 

Bunny Boy felt no temptation to go out to 
catch them. He was a cat that never hunted 
birds and mice, so he lay perfectly still blinking 
at the sunlight streaming into the room, and 
occasionally glancing at Dan who lay motionless 
and sleeping as if he never meant to wake. 

After an hour or two his quick ear heard a 
slight sound. He looked up and there in the 
doorway stood a large, black bird with a strong 
beak and a fierce eye — and the eye was fixed 
upon him, he was sorry to see. 

Bunny Boy stared uneasily at him, and the 
huge bird stared angrily at him. This was the 
bad Grum Growdy, — the raven which had been 
given Diadem, — the bird which was so naughty 
that no one could manage him. 

Grum Growdy’s stern glance seemed to say, 
“ Ah, my enemy, I have found you — you are the 
new pet. Well, I shall make you sorry for com- 
ing to this house.” Step by step he walked 
across the floor, took hold of the bedclothes 


BUNNY BOY 237 

with his beak and swung himself up on the 

Bunny Boy was alarmed and crept close to 
Dan’s head, but Grum Growdy was not afraid of 
Dan, and waddling over the white counterpane 
he came close to the little frightened cat and 
without uttering a sound seized the tip of his 
tail in his beak and tweaked it so painfully that 
Bunny Boy gave one fearful shriek and sprang 
under the bed clothes. 

Dan started up. “You old rowdy,” he ex- 
claimed, winking sleepily at Grum Growdy, 
“ what are you doing here, and what is this ? 
Bunny Boy, you here too? Oh, I see, Grum 
Growdy has been bullying you. Get out, you 
scamp.” And he lightly boxed the raven’s ears. 

“ Ha, ha,” said the raven scornfully, and fly- 
ing up on a picture he looked down attentively 
at Dan and Bunny Boy, who had thrust out his 
head to glance fearfully at him. 

“ Ha, ha, indeed,” said the boy ; w you impu- 
dent fellow, I am going to give you a beating 
some day. What do you mean by being so 
ugly ? ” 

“ Nicely, thank you,” said the raven, sitting 
on one claw and putting up the other to scratch 
his ear. 

“Get away, you bad thing,” and springing 
from his bed Dan chased the raven out through 
the window and closed it. 

“ Now, Bunny Boy, you may come out,” he 
said, and all the time he was dressing he kept 
talking to the frightened animal. 


238 


BUNNY BOY 


When he went down to breakfast Bunny Boy 
was on his shoulder. He had told Diadem that 
the cat was with him, so she was not alarmed 
by the absence of her pet. 

Young Mrs. Gale sat at the head of the table 
laughing convulsively at Grum Growdy, who 
was perched on the window sill looking at her. 
Being a bird no one had considered it worth 
while to notify him of her marriage, and he had 
just discovered the astonishing fact that during 
his absence from home on the previous day a 
woman as well as a cat had been introduced into 
the house. 

One could tell by his actions that he was 
highly displeased. He stared at her, then at 
Mr. Gale and the children, then he struck the 
window frame sharply with his beak and re- 
peated a great many times the word “ veb.” 

“What does he mean?” asked Mrs. Gale. 

“Nobody knows what ‘veb’ means,” said 
Diadem. “ Grum Crowdy just says it when he 
is angry. I will talk to him and you listen and 
hear how queer he is. Poor old Grum Growdy,” 
she said, turning her head toward the window. 
“ Did they bring a pretty lady to the house when 
you were away and make you angry.” 

“Veb, veb,” said the raven hoarsely. 

“ But you must like her, Growdy dear, and try 
to be good to her.” 

“Veb, veb, veb,” said the bird furiously, strik- 
ing the window ledge with his beak. 

“ He is getting worse, Diadem ; you had better 
not stir him up,” said Mr. Gale. “Here, old fel- 


BUNNY BOY 


239 


low, have some porridge,” and mixing cream and 
sugar with some he took from his plate he put 
it on the window. 

Grum Growdy uttered a gratified caw and dip- 
ping his beak in it threw back his head and 
quickly swallowed all that had been given to 
him. Then he took a long breath, swelled out 
his sides and uttered a succession of rasping 
cries that made Mrs. Gale put her hands to her 
ears and say : “ Oh, what a noise ! does he often 
do that ? ” 

“ Yes, unfortunately,” said Mr. Gale. “ Quick, 
Dan, give him something from your plate — some 
meat he will like.” 

“ It is queer, Mother Netta,” said Diadem, 
“ but you know we said birds are just like peo- 
ple, some are good and some are bad.” 

“ Grum Growdy would have been a bad old 
robber or a bully if he had been a man,” said 
Dan. “ It it hadn’t been for Diadem he would 
have been shot long ago. People hate to have 
him steal their things.” 

“ Some of them laugh at him,” said Diadem, 
“ and perhaps he will be a better bird some day. 
He is good part of the time now.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Gale, “ don’t be too hard on 
him, Dan.” 

“ I am not hard on him,” said the boy, “ I am 
only stating truths. I believe he would have 
half killed Bunny Boy this morning if I had 
not been near.” 

“He will get used to him,” said Diadem; 
“just wait for a few weeks, Dan.” 


240 


BUNNY BOY 


“ What kind of bad things does he do ? ” asked 
Mrs. Gale. “ I have never heard of anything 
but his flying about the town and occasionally 
snatching up some bright article that pleased 
him.” 

“ He frightens the robins nearly to death,” said 
Dan. “ You should just hear them chattering 
when he gets up into a tree where their nests 
are, and he listens to them and laughs, ‘ ha, ha,’ 
fit to kill himself.” 

“ Does he hurt the young ones ? ” asked Mrs. 
Gale. 

u No, because we feed him well,” said her 
husband ; “ he simply enjoys teasing them.” 

“Tell Mother Netta about the political meet- 
ing, father,” said Diadem. 

Mr. Gale began to laugh. “Yes, that was 
funny. You ” — addressing his wife — “ hadn’t 
come to Fredericton then. There was a politi- 
cal gathering held out of doors on the big grass 
square in front of the legislative buildings be- 
cause there was no hall large enough to contain 
the people. It was a lovely day and a lovely 
sight to see the crowd down there under the 
trees by the river. We all went, Diadem, Dan, 
and I, and to our discomfiture Grum Growdy 
went too, flying over us and stopping every little 
while to clean his beak against some twig and 
give a caw of satisfaction, for he had had a re- 
markably good dinner. He perched just over 
us on an elm tree and I sincerely hoped that he 
would hold his tongue. He didn’t, fortunately 
or unfortunately. 


BUNNY BOY 


241 


“ There was a number of speakers ; the two 
most important ones came last. While the 
honorable gentleman on my side of the question 
was speaking Grum Growdy said never a word, 
but when the other candidate opened his mouth 
Grum Growdy called out contemptuously , 1 Bosh’. 
The crowd recognized his voice and went off 
into fits of laughter. 1 Ha, ha,’ screamed Grum 
Growdy ; ‘ shut up, shut up.’ 

“ The poor man could hardly get a hearing. 
He did, however, persevere with his speech, but 
the effect was lost, for Grum Growdy would not 
be driven away and kept interrupting him.” 

“ A mischievous bird,” said Mrs. Gale. “ How 
am I to get him to like me ? ” 

“ Speak fair words to him,” said her husband, 
“and wear a red gown, if you have one. He 
loves that color as I do.” 

“ I have one and I shall put it on,” said his 
wife. 

Mrs. Gale was married on a Wednesday. On 
Sunday morning she went to church with her 
husband and the children, and instead of going 
into the house when she came home she sat on 
the veranda with Dan. 

Mr. Gale and Diadem had gone to the dining 
room to get some ice-water, for it was a warm 
day and they both were thirsty. 

When Diadem came hurrying back she threw 
herself on a cushion at her mother’s feet. 

Mrs. Gale leaned over and took off the little 
girl’s hat. “ Do you know, Diadem,” she said 
Q 


242 BUNNY BOY 

touching with gentle fingers the stuffed bird in 
the pretty white hat, u you do one thing that 
seems to me rather odd in a lover of birds.” 

“What is that, Mother Netta?” 

“You wear birds’ skins and feathers in your 
hats.” 

“ But when the poor little things die, it does 
not matter,” said Diadem. “ I like to have them 
about me.” 

“I don’t see much beauty in dead things,” 
said Mrs. Gale ; “ but like you, Diadem, I did not 
know or think anything about the subject till 
yesterday, when I was reading a book about 
birds.” 

“Is it a nice book ? ” asked Diadem eagerly, 
“I should like to see it.” 

“You shall,” said Mrs. Gale ; “ there are some 
delightful stories in it, and some that are pain- 
ful to read. I think I can tell you in a few 
words what I read that made me think of you. 
In the first place, Diadem, for what purpose do 
you think that birds were put in the world ? ” 

“Oh, to be happy and beautiful,” said the 
little girl warmly. “The robins are so dear; I 
love the shy cuckoo that calls in the' cemetery, 
and the swallows with their pointed wings that 
skim about the church ; but best of all I love my 
blackbirds. They look as if they polished them- 
selves every morning — that shining ring around 
their necks is so sweet. Sometimes I feel as if 
I should scream because I cannot get hold of 
them to squeeze them.” 

“A precious little goose you make of your- 


BUNNY BOY 


*43 


self,” said Dan good-naturedly, “kissing and 
fussing over the young birds. I like the night 
hawks best of all, Netta. It is fine to hear them 
swoop down when we are sitting here after tea. 
We had a fellow here from St. John one evening 
and he would not believe that they made that 
noise with their wings. He said it was a cry.” 

“ But birds have something to do in the world 
besides being pretty, haven’t they?” asked Mrs. 
Gale. 

“Oh, yes,” replied Dan, “they catch insects.” 

“ Suppose there were no birds in the world,” 
said Mrs. Gale. 

“ I guess it would go hard with boys,” said 
Dan. “ They would have to stay home from 
school to pick grubs from off the growing things.” 

“ If there were no birds in the world there 
would be no boys nor any grown people,” said 
Mrs. Gale earnestly. “We could not live with- 
out them, and I think it is perfectly horrible that 
so many are killed every year.” 

“ Boys don’t kill birds here,” said Diadem ; 
“they are very good to them.” 

“ It is not the boys,” said Mrs. Gale, shaking 
her head. “It is women, I am ashamed to say 
— good, gentle mothers, the book says many of 
them are.” 

Diadem looked at her in astonishment. “ I 
don’t understand, Mother Netta. Ladies don’t 
hurt birds here.” 

Mrs. Gale touched the pink bird in Diadem’s 
hat. “ Where did you get this, little girl ? ” 

“ From the milliner.” 


244 


BUNNY BOY 


“And where did the milliner get it?” 

u Oh, I don’t know,” returned Diadem slowly. 
“ It is not a Fredericton bird.” 

“ No, I think it came from the South,” said 
Mrs. Gale. “ How many birds do you suppose 
the hunters kill every year for the women of 
America and their children ? ” 

“ I don’t know how many,” said Diadem. 

“Five millions of birds.” 

The immense number conveyed no idea to the 
little girl’s mind, and she stared blankly at her 
mother. 

“ Suppose you saw twenty dead blackbirds on 
this veranda,” said Mrs Gale. 

“ Please stop, Mother Netta,” cried Diadem. 
“ Those are more birds than I have in my little 
cemetery. Twenty dead birds — oh, I should cry 
if I saw them.” 

Mrs. Gale drew a long breath. “ This subject 
is new to me,” she said, “ and I don’t want to 
pain you, Diadem, but I think you would like 
me to make my point.” 

“I see,” exclaimed Dan; “the women don’t 
think. Here you, Diadem, pretend to love birds 
and yet you stick a murdered one in your hat. 
If you wouldn’t wear it the milliner wouldn’t 
buy it, and the men wouldn’t kill it.” 

“That is it,” said Mrs. Gale. 

“ Please give me your knife,” said Diadem 
with a sob. 

The boy handed a penknife to her and she 
hastily ripped the little stuffed bird from her hat 
and placed her hands over its glassy eyes. 


BUNNY BOY 


245 


“ Let us go and bury it,” she said. 

Dan gave a comical glance over his shoulder 
at his stepmother, then followed her willingly 
enough. 

“Where are the children going ? ” asked Mr. 
Gale, suddenly appearing in the doorway. 

“ I have been talking to Diadem about wear- 
ing birds in her hats, — you know how tender- 
hearted she is about them, — and she has gone to 
bury the one that was the subject of my discourse.” 

u I often think that you women are very un- 
reasoning creatures,” said Mr. Gale. “You are 
so kind and gentle and yet you do such cruel 
things without for an instant intending to be 
cruel. I have thought this subject all out. It 
seems a mockery to me to see women sitting in 
church singing 

Oh, for the tenderness of heart, 

Which bows before the Lord, 

while their heads are adorned with his murdered 
creatures, and their horses stand outside with 
their heads checked up till their necks are ready 
to break ; and you bring your daughters up in 
the same way. Men are powerless, for women 
set the fashions.” 

“ I know,” said Mrs. Gale in alow voice. “It 
makes me ashamed of myself ; but I shall wear 
no more birds now that I have looked into the 
matter. I did not dare tell Diadem of the way in 
which the birds are killed at the season of the 
year when they are rearing their young, and how 
cruelly the young ones are left to starve.” 


246 


BUNNY BOY 


“No, don’t tell her,” said Mr. Gale. “Tell 
her though of the loss to the country, for she has 
a practical little mind ; of places where the birds 
have not been protected as they are here, and of 
the consequent failure of crops and the enormous 
expenditure of money to get rid of insect pests ; 
and above all tell her not to grieve overmuch 
about this or any other evil in the world, but to 
devote her energies to putting a stop to it.” 

“I will,” said his wife. “Now let us go and 
see what she is doing.” 

Side by side they walked over the lawn to a 
sheltered corner, where was Diadem’s little ceme- 
tery for deceased pets. 

The pink bird was just being put into the 
ground. “ Lay him here, Dan, next to the chim- 
ney swallow,” said Diadem. 

“The chimney swallow,” said Mr. Gale. 
“ That is an addition I have not heard of.” 

“ It was last week, father. Don’t you remem- 
ber,” said Diadem, “after the fire in the tannery? 
He must have had his nest in the chimney, for 
he got his wings singed and some little girls 
found him in the street and brought him here.” 

“And Diadem stayed home from school all 
one day to nurse him,” said Dan, “and put warm 
food in his mouth. He breathed heavily just 
like a sick person, then he died.” 

“ Here lies old Mr. Jewry’s fighting cock,” 
said Mr. Gale, “ the worst bird in Fredericton ; 
but Diadem took him in. See the spur at the 
head of his grave. And there are the stones of a 
pet cat and a robin and three dogs belonging to 


BUNNY BOY 247 

friends. But this is a melancholy business ; let 
us go and have some dinner.” 

u Oh dear, dear,” said Diadem; “birds have a 
very hard time. Good-bye, little pink bird,” and 
she looked mournfully toward the grave. “I’m 
very miserable, Dan.” 

Mr. Gale and his wife looked back. Dan had 
dropped his spade and had thrown his arm pro- 
tec tingly around Diadem. “ Never mind, old 
girl,” he was saying ; “ there are lots of pleasant 
things in the world yet.” 

“ Netta, Netta, don’t move till I get my kodak,” 
said Mr. Gale one day a few weeks later. 

He had just come from his office and had 
sauntered out through the house to the spot 
where he knew he should find his wife and 
Diadem and possibly Dan. 

Behind the villa was a field with a small stream 
running through it and having trees scattered 
about with rustics seats under them. Near 
one of these trees Mrs. Gale sat, and perched 
close to her head was Grum Growdy. 

Mrs. Gale had on her red gown and the stern 
old raven surveyed her with the greatest appro- 
bation, occasionally putting down his beak to 
rub caressingly the rim of her ear. 

At such times Mrs. Gale shivered and laughed 
saying, “ Please don’t, Grum Growdy ; you tickle 
my ear.” But the raven paid no attention to her 
remonstrance and continued to caress her. 

Mr. Gale hurried out with his kodak and took 
a snap shot at her. 


BUNNY BOY 


248 

Then she moved farther away from the raven 
which however calmly hopped to the back of 
her chair. 

Mrs. Gale changed her seat, but Grum Growdy 
flew on her lap. 

“You silly old thing,” she exclaimed, smother- 
ing him in a bit of fancy work on which she had 
been sewing; “go away and don’t bother me.” 

Grum Growdy thrust out his head for her to 
scratch, which she did ; then rising she threw him 
into the air. 

He flew away and her husband said : “ The old 
scamp, who would have supposed that he would 
get to care for you so quickly ? ” 

“ I paid most devoted court to him,” she said, 
“ and I have worn this red dress all through the 
warm weather till I am tired of it. I think I 
can venture to take it off now.” 

“Yes, I think so too,” said her husband ; 
“ Grum Growdy will like you now, no matter 
what color you wear.” 

“He has taught me a lesson,” said Mrs. Gale 
brightly ; “ the crossest and most disagreeable 
people can be won by kindness.” 

“ That is true,” said Mr. Gale. 

“Fancy learning a lesson from a raven,” said 
Mrs. Gale ; “ I should have laughed at the idea a 
few weeks ago.” 

“ It is not safe to despise any creature that God 
has made,” said Mr. Gale. 

“No, indeed ; Grum Growdy has been such a 
help to me in visiting old Mr. Smith. His 
manner is detestable you know. He says I read 


BUNNY BOY 


249 


the Bible as if my mouth were full of pebbles ; 
but I find if one has patience with him there are 
grains of kindness in his heart.” 

“ Where are the children? ” asked Mr. Gale. 

“ They have not come from school yet. They 
are late to-day.” 

“ Ah, I thought they had not ; I see Bunny Boy 
up on the gate post waiting for Dan.” 

“Is it not remarkable that the little creature 
should feel such -adoration for our boy? ” 

“ Remarkable indeed ; and do you see what a 
softening, humanizing effect it is having upon 
Dan ? I notice that when he speaks roughly 
the cat shrinks from him and he notices it too 
and alters his tones.” 

“ That cat has a mission in the world,” said 
Mrs. Gale. 

“ Oh, father and mother, father and mother, it 
is just beautiful to see you,” cried some one 
suddenly, and looking up they saw Diadem 
running toward them. “ Oh, I am so pleased 
that you are out here. I’ve got a lot of things 
to tell you. We are going to have a Sunday- 
school picnic and a dear little heathen girl is to 
be there, and a concert is to be held to-night 
and she is to be there too, and may I go? ” 

“ We shall see about it,” said her mother, 
brushing back the thick fringe of hair from the 
little girl’s face. “You had better sit down and 
rest now.” 

“Oh, you naughty, naughty thing ! ” ex- 
claimed Diadem before she had fairly sat down. 
“Stop that this instant.” 


250 


BUNNY BOY 


Mr. Gale laughed and murmured, “Old beast,” 
at the same time. 

Good little Bunny Boy, seeing that Dan was 
not coming, had started to follow Diadem to the 
field, but he was very much hampered in his 
movements by the teasing raven. 

Grum Growdy, who had taken Mrs. Gale into 
his favor, had not yet ceased to dislike Bunny 
Boy and lost no opportunity of worrying him. 
Now he was hovering over him as he ran toward 
the group under the tree, and at every little run 
the cat took, he would swoop down and spitefully 
nip his long fur. 

He was not hurting Bunny Boy, but he was 
decidedly annoying him and at every few paces 
the cat would stop and looking at him with 
gentle eyes, put up a protesting paw as much as 
to say, “ How can you do such things? ” 

Diadem drove the raven away, and the cat ran 
beside her to the shelter of the tree. 

“ Ah, what a forgiving pussy you are,” said 
Mrs. Gale, as the worried animal sprang on her 
lap. “ Some cats would box Grum Growdy ’s 
ears, but you do not show the least resentment 
when he troubles you.” 

Bunny Boy sat for some time purring quietly 
and surveying the happy family party, then he 
showed signs of excitement and finally ran 
toward the house. 

“Dan is coming now,” said Diadem ; “but it 
is odd we neither see nor hear him, yet Bunny 
Boy knows. How can animals tell, father?” 

“ I don’t know, my child ; they seem to have a 


BUNNY BOY 


251 


sense that we know nothing of. When I went 
hunting as a boy, I often had my hound come 
straight to me when he could neither see nor 
hear me, and had no track to follow.” 

“ I think that we should love animals very 
much,” said Diadem, “for they are so clever.” 

Dan soon approached, the cat as usual on his 
shoulder. “ I have been to the woods,” he said, 
laying a bunch of wild flowers on his mother’s 
lap. 

She smiled to herself as she put them to her 
face and thought, “ How odd children are ; this 
was the boy who was going to hate me.” Then 
she gathered up her work to leave them. 

“Where are you going, Netta?” asked Dan. 

“ To arrange for an early tea. We all want to 
go to the concert this evening.” 

“ Oh, that will be jolly ; but can’t I do it for 
you ? ” 

“No, thank you; I want to see cook myself, 
and you are tired. Die down on the grass ; here 
is a cushion for your head.” 

He stretched himself out at full length, and 
with the cat sitting close beside him, amused 
himself by counting the young apples forming 
among the leaves above him. 

Two hours later tea was over, and they were 
starting for the concert. 

Bunny Boy watched them from the front door- 
way and Grum Growdy looked down on them 
from an elm tree. 

Then he began to think that it was time for 
him to go to bed. 


252 


BUNNY BOY 


He would fly up to the brook in the field and 
have another drink, for he was a very thirsty 
bird and was always drinking. 

In the brook was a little place where there 
was a hollow between speckled stones. This 
was Grum Growdy’s favorite spot. He lighted 
on one of the stones and took a drink. Then 
he wished that it was earlier in the day so that 
he might have a bath. However, he would not 
do such a rash thing as to bathe his big black 
body and then go to bed. So he simply waded 
in the clear water and looked down at his feet 
resting on the pebbles. 

There seemed to be something caught and 
twisted around a sharp stone. What was it ? A 
bit of fish skin? No, it was a string, and in 
moving toward it he got it around one of his 
claws. He tried to get out of it but it became 
more firmly entangled, so he stepped on a stone 
and picked at it with his beak. 

Then a strange thing happened — he, Grum 
Growdy, who was always so agile and nimble, 
who could dodge anything, even a stone, that he 
would watch coming from the hand of a boy 
by simply jumping up and allowing it to pass 
under him, now became surely caught in a piece 
of stout twine that some careless person had 
thrown into the brook. 

He got confused and turned around instead of 
standing still. This wound his legs tightly 
together and he fell over. 

He became furious and managing to right 
himself he put his powerful beak under water 


BUNNY BOY 


253 


— the beak that had always been able to tear 
anything apart that he had wanted to tear — and 
tried to pull the string from his legs. 

His head being under water, however, he 
choked, and falling over on his side he found 
that he would need all his strength to keep his 
head above water instead of thrusting it in. 

Here was a pretty pickle for him to be in — he, 
the strong, cunning Grum Growdy, that no 
person but the Gales and Mrs. Denham had ever 
laid a finger on, to be caught by the legs like a 
silly young robin. 

What should he do ? Thank fortune it was 
getting dark. If some of his enemies came 
along now they would smite him hip and thigh. 

If he had only known the right place in which 
to attack the string he could have thrust his head 
in quickly and with one swift stroke could have 
cut it in two ; but he did not. It was twisted 
round and round the stone and round and round 
his feet, and like many human beings who can 
keep their heads perfectly on dry land, he became 
a complete simpleton when he fell into the water. 

After a time it seemed to Grum Growdy that 
the water was rising. He had certainly floun- 
dered into a pool where it was well up over his 
back. 

He did not think of drowning or of calling 
for help, he was simply angry, and he stood as 
best he could in perfect silence so that he would 
attract no enemies to the spot. 

Perhaps he knew that even if he did laugh 
‘Ha, ha,’ or shriek ‘Bosh,’ no one would have 


254 


BUNNY BOY 


come to his assistance. There were several 
houses near the Gales’ villa, and the people were 
laughing and talking and sitting on their ve- 
randas or playing games inside, but they were 
all quite used to Grum Growdy and if he had 
lifted up his voice they would simply have said ; 
“It is the Gales’ raven. It is late for him to be 
chattering.” 

So the poor old raven stood in the brook and 
the neighbors went on amusing themselves. 

How quickly Dan would have run to the spot 
if he could have seen him ; but Dan at that in- 
stant was several blocks away enjoying the 
music at the concert. He could not come. 

Cook, to whom Grum Growdy so often said 
“ Veb,” was sitting by her window resting. If it 
had been light she could almost have seen him, 
but if he had given any of his usual hoarse calls 
she would have ejaculated, “Oh, you impudent 
thing ; you may screech your head off before 
I’ll take any notice of you.” 

Grum Growdy was certainly in a desperate 
state. In his flutterings to and fro he had bruised 
one of his wings which was bleeding, and he 
had so far lost his foothold that now he was on 
his side in the water, having all he could do to 
keep his head out. 

If Mrs. Gale, his latest favorite, could see him 
how sorry she would be, how quickly she would 
cut the cruel cord that bound his legs ; but she 
was not there nor was dear little Diadem. While 
Grum Growdy lay in grim uncomplaining silence 
a crash of music at the concert filled the ears of 


BUNNY BOY 255 

the small girl who would have flown to his side 
could she have known his sad plight. 

There was only one creature in the family 
that suspected his misfortune and that was the 
despised little cat that he had worried half to 
death. How Bunny Boy knew no one could tell, 
but as he lay on the back doorstep he pricked 
his ears first one way, then the other, knowing 
quite well that away down in the field the old 
raven was either in trouble or very cunningly 
pretending to be so. 

Bunny Boy was a very perplexed little cat. 
He was quite willing to go to the aid of the 
raven if he were really needed ; but suppose this 
was a trap ? The raven hated him. He knew 
that the family had gone to the concert. Per- 
haps he was trying to allure his rival into the 
field to peck him to death with his cruel beak. 

Bunny Boy stood up and listened. No sound 
came from the raven, none would come, he would 
die in silence ; and the cat, as if knowing this, 
suddenly sprang from the steps and went steal- 
ing through the grass to the brook. 

It was perfectly dark now and there was no 
moon, but Bunny Boy’s eyes were made so that 
he could see quite well. A brace of little field 
mice scampered by but he gave no heed to them 
and hurried on. What a splashing and tumbling 
there was in the brook ! He was now quite near 
it and in a glance took in the situation. Poor 
Grum Growdy ! he was indeed in trouble, his 
whole body was under water. 

When the cat stood over him he ceased strug- 


BUNNY BOY 


256 

gling and lay with his wet black head just rest- 
ing on a stone. 

“ Meow,” said Bunny Boy gently, which meant, 
“ Well, you have got yourself into a mess and I 
am sorry for you.” 

“Caw,” said the raven feebly. 

Bunny Boy for an instant did not know what 
to do. Being a cat he hated the water and if he 
got in he did not see how he could help the 
raven. So he stared at the bird and the bird 
at him. Then they understood each other. 

Bunny Boy instead of returning to the house 
daintily crossed the brook on the stepping-stones 
and swiftly took a short cut leading to the church 
vestry where the concert was being held. 

Gram Growdy knew what he was going to do 
and lay quite still without struggling. 

Poor Bunny Boy’s troubles were now to begin. 
He was a timid cat and hated the public street, 
where there were always so many dogs. Trem- 
bling and hiding occasionally when he heard 
any one coming, then hurrying to make up for 
the delay, he gained the hall. On arriving there 
he crouched near the doorway and wondered how 
he was to get in. A tall young man stood there 
and catching sight of him said, “ Get home, 
pussy, this isn’t a cat show.” 

“Meow, Meow,” said Bunny Boy appealingly 
and crept a little nearer. 

“No, no,” said the young man, “you just go 
back to the place you came from. You would 
be frightened to death if you got in there. 
This is no place for cats.” 


BUNNY BOY 


257 


Bunny Boy hid himself for a few minutes then 
when the young man’s back was turned he 
rushed by him. 

He found himself in a big lighted hall crowded 
with people, and as the young man had warned 
him he was half frightened to death. Where was 
he to find his dear family? He paused an in- 
stant in the aisle, then something told him where 
they were and he ran right to them and sprang 
on the knees of the astonished Dan. 

“Good gracious,” exclaimed the boy, “what 
is this?” Then he looked about at the lads 
scattered here and there who were giggling at 
him and pressing Bunny Boy down in his lap 
he covered him with his cap. 

The cat would not keep still. He kept elevat- 
ing his back and lifting Dan’s cap in the air till 
he got for the first time in his history a gentle 
cuff on the ears. 

It made no difference, Bunny Boy still put up 
his back, mewed and tried to jump on the floor. 

“ Well, get down then, you silly thing,” said 
Dan, pushing him aside. 

“ Meow,” said Bunny Boy dismally, standing 
on his hind legs as he had been taught to do 
when he wanted anything and looking appeal- 
ingly at Diadem and Mrs. Gale. 

The little Hindu had at that instant come on 
the platform dressed in the native costume of 
her country and was singing a curious song. 
The Gales were all interested in it, yet they could 
not help watching the strange actions of the 
usually quiet little cat. 

R 


BUNNY BOY 


258 

Diadem, who understood animals better than 
Dan did, at last whispered to her mother, 
“ Bunny Boy wishes us to follow him ; some- 
thing has happened at home.” 

The cat, as if conscious of what she said, 
sprang out into the passage between the seats 
and running back and forth, showed as plainly 
as possible that the little girl was right. 

“ Nothing could happen,” whispered Dan, 
leaning over to speak to them. “Cook is at 
home.” 

“ I am going to see, anyway,” said Diadem, 
decidedly. “ Bunny Boy is in trouble or he 
wouldn’t act in that way. Mayn’t I, Mother 
Netta?” 

“ Certainly, and I will go with you,” said 
Mrs. Gale. 

The two slipped quietly out preceded by the 
cat, that had now stopped mewing and ran in 
front of them, looking back anxiously to see if 
they were following. 

He made a bee line for the brook. Mrs. Gale 
and Diadem hurried after him, sometimes laugh- 
ing, sometimes saying anxiously, “ Has he gone 
crazy ? ” as he took them across streets and 
down lanes and finally over a stone wall. 

“ Now, what is it ? ” said Mrs. Gale as, holding 
Diadem tightly by the hand, she at last stood 
peering down at the dark brook where Bunny 
Boy had halted. 

A hoarse but happy caw at her feet made her 
start back. 

“Oh, my raven, my darling, darling bird,” 


BUNNY BOY 


259 


shrieked Diadem. “ He is drowning, oh, dear, 
dear,” and she fell on her knees at the edge of 
the brook and plunging her hands into the 
water, she felt about till she found Grum 
Growdy’s sleek body. 

Mrs. Gale put her hands in too, and soon 
discovered the state of affairs. “ Hold tightly 
to him, Diadem,” she said, “ and I will run to 
the house for a lantern and a knife. I am afraid 
to pull on that string.” 

She turned away, and Diadem, kneeling with 
the front of her white embroidered frock floating 
to and fro in the water, petted the now happy 
bird till her mother returned. 

Cook held the lantern, and then a few sharp 
cuts of the knife set Grum Growdy free. 

“ Ha, ha,” he said, and staggered to and fro on 
his stiff legs. 

“ Ha, ha, indeed,” said cook ; u this might have 
been a poor joke for you, sir. You had better 
mend your ways and not be so impudent.” 

“ Bosh,” said the bird with dignity, and 
turned his back on her. 

Diadem took him up in her arms and carried 
him to the house. “ My poor, bad, old bird — 
you will try now to be good, won’t you ? ” 

“Nicely, thank you,” chuckled the raven. 

“ And you must apologize to this dear little 
Bunny Boy, who has saved your life,” said 
Diadem. 

The raven said nothing, but he looked at the 
cat in such a bright, quick fashion that Diadem 
thought he understood what she meant. 


26 o 


BUNNY BOY 


When Mr. Gale and Dan came home they 
found Mrs. Gale and Diadem sitting before the 
sofa in the dining room. On one end of it was 
Grum Growdy getting his wet plumage rubbed 
with a towel, on the other sat Bunny Boy eying 
him with visible satisfaction. 

“ Oh, father and Dan, what do you think has 
happened ? ” and Diadem told them the story of 
the cat’s rescue of the raven. 

“Surprising,” said Mr. Gale when she had 
finished. 

“I tell you one thing,” said Dan;, “that raven 
will never worry my cat any more.” 

He was right. Grum Growdy never once 
molested Bunny Boy after that night. For many 
days subsequent to his ducking in the brook he 
would sit and stare at Bunny Boy in a very 
curious fashion, never going near him and never 
teasing him. Then after a long time they be- 
came friends and now the raven will perch beside 
the cat, eat with him and address long conver- 
sations to him, which Bunny Boy seems to enjoy 
hugely. 
















IX 


TEN LITTLE INDIANS 



HAT was the name of the club — the Ten 
Little Indians Club — there were ten 
boys belonging to it, Will Johnson, 
Percy Percival, Guy Fitzgerald, Bernard 
Griffin, Dicky Dougall, Jim Thomson, 
Rollo Jones, Jed Hammond, and John and Mar- 
tin Fitch. 

They were not very little boys. Percy Per- 
cival, the youngest of them all, was eleven. 
They were called the little Indians because they 
were the brothers of young men who belonged 
to what was called the Indian Club. 

The Indian Club went in for out-of-door sports 
and games. They were great canoeists, and they 
played Lacrosse and other Indian games, and 
were very fond of spending all their leisure time 
in the woods surrounding the city where they 
lived. 

The Indians, little and big, were all Canadians, 
and many a stranger in Fredericton, the capital 
of the Canadian province of New Brunswick, has 
been entertained in their camp on an island in 
the river. 

Of course, they were not real Indians ; they 

261 


262 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


just called themselves that for fun. They were 
all white ; the young men who were the big In- 
dians, and the boys who were the little Indians. 

One day, a fine summer day, the ten little In- 
dians stood in a group on the river , bank. They 
had met there after school and were just de- 
bating how they should spend the afternoon. 

“ Let’s take out the canoes and go up the 
Nashwaaksis,” said Martin Fitch. 

“ All right, let’s,” said a number of the other 
boys. 

Bernard Griffin put his hand in his pocket 
and with a rueful smile drew out a piece of 
paper. “ Look here, fellows,” he said. 

“ Read it ” cried Dicky Dougall ; “ we can’t 
all see it.” 

Bernard read aloud. “ Old Mr. and Mrs. 
Saxon would be glad to have a call from the ten 
little Indians on Thursday.” 

“ They would, would they,” exclaimed Rollo 
Jones, “ is’nt that like old Mr. and Mrs. Saxon.” 

“And it’s signed,” said Bernard, “with Mr. 
Everard’s name.” 

“ Bother Mr. Everard and bother old Mr. and 
Mrs. Saxon,” said Jim Thomson. “ Let him go 
and see them himself.” 

“ It seems to me that we do a good deal of 
visiting the sick, for Indians,” grumbled John 
Fitch. 

“ This child doesn’t believe in keeping a dog 
and barking himself,” said Dicky Dougall, bal- 
ancing himself on a log and snapping his fingers. 

The boys all laughed. “ What’s the joke?” 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 263 

asked a pale, slight lad, who was staring intently 
at the Indians with bright dark eyes. 

“ See here, Crawford, I’ll give you a few 
points,” said John Fitch, taking him by the 
front of his coat and leading him aside ; “ you’re 
a visitor and don’t know. This club is called 
the Little Indians, do you know that ? ” 

“Yes, I do,” said the strange boy. 

“And we go in for a good time like most 
clubs, do you know that ? ” 

“ Of course, I do.” 

“ And Bernard Griffin is our secretary, and Jed 
Hammond is our president, do you know that?” 

“ I do now,” said the boy from the far-away 
city of Montreal. “ Let go my coat, will you,” 
and he twitched himself away from the other lad. 

“ And all the old men and all the old women 
in the place want us to come and sit by their 
beds and hold their hands,” said John. “ Now, 
how are we going to do that and have fun ? ” 

“ Would you like to have your head punched?” 
said the Montreal boy politely. 

Will Johnson turned around suddenly. “ Here 
you, John Fitch, what are you about? Craw- 
ford’s my guest, just you remember that.” 

John was inclined to be a little sneaky. “ I 
wasn’t doing a thing,” he said, and he slunk 
away. 

“ Hello, Crawford boy,” said Will, moving up 
to him, “ how are you ? ” 

“ All right,” said the other laconically. Then 
he started over again in his quest for informa- 
tion. “ What was the joke just now ? ” 


264 TEN EITTEE INDIANS 

“ Oh, it’s about Mr. Everard ; we all go to his 
church, you know. He likes fun and all that, 
but he says we ought to do some good, and he’s 
always putting us up to something.” 

“ Do you visit old men and women ? ” 

“Yes,’ said Will half-shamefacedly. “They 
think we’re more fun than a cage of monkeys.” 

“ What do you do ? ” 

“ Troop in and sit down and look at ’em. 
Sometimes they ask us to sing our club songs, 
sometimes a church hymn, sometimes they ask 
questions till I’m rattled ; sometimes we take 
them flowers and green stuff from the woods.” 

“That’s all right,” said Crawford, adjusting 
his necktie. “ It’s bad to be piggy, and I guess 
you’re not softies.” 

“ I guess not,” said Will. “ Hello, what’s 
going on? ” 

There was a raft of logs floating down the 
river, and the boys were looking at it. 

“ That’s nothing to see,” said Will. “ I wish 
you could be here in the spring, Crawford, when 
the ice breaks up.” 

“ The St. Lawrence gets covered with ice,” 
said the other boy. 

“ Our river is a sight,” said Will. “ The ice 
cakes crush together and the water comes tear- 
ing down and the logs jump and tear along and 
have a regular picnic ; you would think they 
were alive to see them crowding each other.” 

“ Sorry to break in,” said Guy throwing Will 
a key, “ but I wish you’d go and ask your brother 
to change this. We’ve brought the wrong one.” 


TEN TITTLE INDIANS 265 

“Who’ll go for the stuff to eat?” called 
Bernard. 

“ I and I,” said some of the boys. 

“ Come on, Crawford,” said Will, “ they have 
decided to go across the river. Jed must have 
spoken.” 

“ He’s your president,” said Crawford, hurry- 
ing along beside him. 

“ Yes ; just take a good look at him when he 
opens his mouth. He hardly ever speaks unless 
he’s spoken to.” 

“ He must be a lively president.” 

“I tell you there’s lots of quiet fun in Jed. 
You just watch him.” 

Ten minutes later the boys were launching 
canoes. Three bark ones there were, with their 
names painted in white letters on the bows — the 
Jemseg, the Canaweeta, and the Oromocto. 

Will was carefully guiding the Oromocto into 
the water. “If we smash a hole in one it takes 
so long to mend it,” he said to Crawford. 

“ I know,” said the Montreal boy. “I’ve been 
in a canoe before.”* 

The boys tossed in their parcels, then they 
stepped in, three boys in the Jemseg, four in the 
Canaweeta, and four in the Oromocto. 

Will was paddling in the stern of the last 
canoe, and Crawford sat in the front of him. 
“ We’re pretty low in the water,” said Will, “ but 
I guess we’re all right.” 

“Let’s sing, boys,” shouted Dicky Dougall 
when the canoes glided out beyond the wharf. 


266 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


“ The club song first,” called Bernard. “ Here 
goes,” and he began singing to the tune of u John 
Brown had a little Indian,” 

“Will, and Jim, and Guy, and Martin, 

John and Rollo, jolly Griffin, 

Percy, Jed, and Dicky Dougall, 

Ten little Indian lads. ’ * 

u Who’s jolly Griffin ? ” asked Crawford. 

“ Bernard,” said Will, “ he’s jolly, don’t you 
know. That’s why we say it. Hello, Indians, 
what’s the matter with 1 La Loo ’ ? ” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” was the reply, and they 
started another song while Will said in a low, 
proud voice to Crawford, “I made it up.” 

“The sky is blue, the water too, 

La loo, la loo, 

We glide along a merry crew, 

La loo, la loo, 

We won’ t get home till late to-night, 

La loo, la loo, 

Our parents know that we’ re all right, 

La loo, la loo. * * 

The lusty young voices floated back over the 
river into the open windows of a bank where 
some of the boys’ fathers sat having a business 
meeting. More than one smile flitted over the 
faces of the grave and sober men present. They 
were glad that their boys were having a good 
time. 

“ Do you really stay out late ? ” asked Craw- 
ford of Will. 

“ Yes ; pretty late sometimes.” 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


267 

“ I guess you put that in to sound big,” said 
John, who happened to be in the canoe with 
them. 

“ Sit still, John ; don’t excite yourself,” said 
Will teasingly. “ It don’t take much to upset a 
canoe, you know.” 

u Bah ! they go slipping out from under you 
like a live thing,” said Crawford. “I say, this 
is fine, Will.” 

“Yes, isn’t it,” said Will, paddling more vigor- 
ously than ever as he looked about him. “ Fred- 
ericton is the prettiest place in the world. Just 
look at those church spires above the trees and 
the fine houses down there.” 

“ Montreal is a bigger place,” said Crawford. 

“ Of course ; but it isn’t so nice to live in.” 

“ Have you ever been there ? ” said Crawford. 

“ No ; but my father has.” 

“ All right,” said Crawford ; “ wait till you 
come. What’s the place over there ? ” 

“ That’s Gibson. Bare-looking, isn’t it ? It 
was nearly wiped out by a fire a year ago. They’ll 
build it up, though. Away down there is the 
opening of the Nashwaak.” 

“ Is that another river? ” asked Crawford. 

“Yes, it flows into this one ; we must go up 
it some day. There’s a jolly little town on it — 
Marysville it’s called. It’s all owned by one 
man, the Pullman of Canada. He has every- 
thing : houses, shops, a big factory where five 
hundred people work, and he built a boss — I 
mean a fine little church, that cost fifty thou- 
sand dollars. This river that we’re going to is 


268 


TEN TITTLE INDIANS 


called the Nashwaaksis because it is the little 
Nashwaak. You mustn’t pronounce the k in 
Nashwaaksis. It’s only for show.” 

“You pronounce it in Nashwaak,” said Craw- 
ford. 

“ Yes.” 

“ We’re not going to the Nashwaaksis at all,” 
said John ; “ we’re bound for the camp.” 

“Good,” exclaimed Will; “I didn’t know 
that.” 

“ Jed said so,” replied John. 

“ Well, if he said so we must be going,” said 
Will. “ Hello, there, Jemseg.” 

“ L,a loo, la loo,” came back from the first 
canoe. 

“ Ask Jed,” shouted Will, “ to steer as close 
to the Nashwaaksis as he can. I want Crawford 
to see what a gay little river it is.” 

“ Sorry ; can’t do it,” came back. “ Haven’t 
time.” 

“ Botheration,” growled Will, as he clutched 
his paddle more firmly. 

“Jed’s what you might call ‘sot in his ways,’ 
isn’t he ? ” said Rollo, who was the fourth boy in 
the canoe. 

“ He’s the oldest one of the lot,” said John. 
“ The big Indians would not let us have their 
canoes if we didn’t mind him.” 

“ It’s all right,” said Crawford. “ I don’t care. 
What in the line of boats is this, Will ? ” 

Crawford was laughing quietly and twisting 
his neck around to look at the craft approaching 
them. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


269 

“ It’s old man Lofty,” said Will. “We’re used 
to him. He goes down the river every summer 
like that. He calls it his oil-barrel raft. They’re 
empty paraffine casks lashed together. Look at 
his wife and children peeping out of that canvas 
shanty on them.” 

“ What does he do it for ? ” asked Crawford, 
who was still laughing as the crude white 
house-boat went floating by them with the cur- 
rent. 

“ He sells the casks down the river and re- 
turns by steamer.” 

“ I say this is pretty,” remarked Crawford. 

They were in the middle of the wide river. 
They had passed the wharves and sawmills and 
the piles of lumber on the outskirts of the city, 
and the quaint old stone government house stand- 
ing unoccupied and lonely in the midst of fine old 
trees. Now on either side of them stretched 
green fields with here and there a house. In the 
distance were some small islands. 

“ There’s our camp — you can see it now,” said 
Rollo. “ Look, near that round hill wooded to 
the top.” 

Crawford was looking at it “ It’s a fine place 
for a camp,” he said. 

“ The first camp we had on that island floated 
away in a heavy spring freshet,” said John. 
“ We saw it coming down the river. This one 
has a heavier foundation.” 

“ Does it belong to the little Indians ? ” asked 
Crawford. 

“No; to the big ones,” replied Rollo. “ They 


270 


TEN LITTLE INDIANS 


let us use it if we’re careful. My, don’t we 
catch it if anything is missing. The big In- 
dians bring their young lady friends down here 
on picnics.” 

“ I think I would like to belong to an Indian 
club,” said Crawford, and a smile passed over his 
delicate face as the canoe grated gently on the 
sand. 

As he stepped ashore he saw with secret de- 
light the president, who was a much older lad 
than he, standing before him. 

w Glad you could come to Camp Comfort,” said 
Jed stuffing his hands in his pockets. “ Sorry 
we couldn’t take in the Nashwaaksis. I promised 
to be back on time. The big Indians go out by 
moonlight this evening with some girls.” 

“ It’s all right,” said Crawford deeply grati- 
fied. 

“ Come see the camp,” said Jed. 

Some of the lads drew the canoes a little way 
from the water’s edge, others ran up the steep 
bank to light a fire, and Jed and Crawford 
walked around the little island. 

“ It isn’t big, but it’s comfortable.” 

“ I should think so,” said Crawford looking 
about at the swings and hammocks under the 
trees, the rustic seats, the level place for games, 
the little well and sunken refrigerator. 

u Come in,” and Jed halted at the door of the 
big log camp that occupied the center of the 
island. The ends of the logs were painted red 
and green shrubbery pressed against the windows 
and hung about the entrance. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 27 1 

“ There’s our big stone fireplace,” said Jed 
pointing to it. “ Let’s have a fire, boys, and 
show Will’s friend how it looks later on when we 
sit around here popping corn and spinning 
yarns.” 

He threw off his coat and ran out for some 
birch bark and sticks of wood and soon a big 
fire went roaring up the chimney. 

The red glow flashed into every corner of the 
camp. 

“ We sleep in those rows of bunks along the 
wall when we stay down all night,” Jed said. 
“ Look, here are the camp blankets and pillows ; 
C. C. on each of them. Some of the girls gave 
the big Indians those pictures. See, here is our 
pantry. We bought those tin cans ; salt, sugar, 
whatever we want is in them.” 

“ What does this mean ? ” asked Crawford 
pointing to a big jar labeled “ Palatables.” 

“ Candy,” said Jed lifting the lid. “ It’s al- 
ways empty. There’s one jawbreaker here. I 
won’t offer you that. Whew, it’s hot here. 
Let’s get out.” 

Crawford followed him out of doors where the 
other lads were gathered around a small fire. 

“I say, that coffee smells good,” said Craw- 
ford. 

Jed smiled and walked away. 

“ He’s been showing you around, hasn’t he ? ” 
said Will in Crawford’s ear. 

“ Yes,” said the smaller boy standing on his 
toes to make himself look tall. “ He can talk. 
He’s all right.” 


272 TEN UTTOE INDIANS 

The boys had brought a very good lunch with 
them. They sat around a long, wooden table 
under the trees and devoted their attention to 
sandwiches, bread and butter, and cold meat, 
pies, tarts, cakes, and a basket of fruit. 

All too soon the time came to break up. 

“ Eat some more, Crawford,” said Will. 

“ I’m going to have one nightmare now,” was 
the reply ; “If you make me eat one bit more 
I’ll have two.” 

“Stop then,” said Will, “and help me carry 
these things to the canoes. This cake and stuff 
is for the dearly beloved Saxons.” 

On the way home the boys did not need to 
paddle so hard, for they were going down the 
stream. They laughed and talked and made 
jokes, and on catching sight of the lights of 
Fredericton again broke into song. 

Jed’s canoe went ahead, for there were some 
rocks and sandbanks in the river, and he knew 
them better than any of the other boys. 

“There’s the moon climbing the cathedral 
spire,” said Will, when they got nearly to the 
boat house. Won’t it be glorious later on. I 
wish we were going out with the big Indians.” 

“ Come now, hustle,” said Jed, looking at his 
watch and speaking to the other lads, who were 
inclined to dawdle. “ Put the canoes on the 
shelves, then quick march for the Saxons’.” 

“ Oh, hush up, Jed,” “ I say that’s too bad, 
Jed,” and “What are you thinking about?” were 
some of the exclamations that greeted him on 
every side. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


273 


“ Hustle,” he said again calmly. 

“I’m not going to the Saxons’,” said John 
Fitch viciously pushing a paddle into its place. 
“ I’ve got lessons to learn and I’m tired.” 

“ Give that Indian something to carry,” said 
Jed; “he’s lazy.” 

Dicky Dougall tumbled a bag full of soiled 
linen that he was carrying home from the camp 
on John’s shoulders.” 

Everybody roared with laughter as John stag- 
gered forward. 

“ Carry that,” said Jed throwing his hand over 
John’s neck, “and stop your talk.” 

John wisely held his tongue, and the other 
lads, after locking the boat house and putting 
the key where the big Indians would find it, 
hurried on after the two boys. 

“ Eet’s serenade ’em,” said Bernard when the 
little Indians all pulled up under the windows 
of a yellow house with a projecting roof. 

One little, two little, three little Indians, 

Four little 

started somebody. 

“ Hush,” said Jed. “ They’re old people. 
Think of something quiet and solemn.” 

“What’s their favorite hymn?” said Dicky 
Dougall. “ ‘ Hark from the tombs,’ isn’t it ? ” 

Jed suddenly put out his foot and tripped 
Dicky, who went tumbling back on the two 
Fitch boys. “Stop your fooling and sing,” said 
Jed, “ or I’ll ” 

“ Oh no, you won’t,” said Dick saucily ; then 
s 


274 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


he composed himself, and in a sweet, clear voice, 
for he was a choir boy and sang in church on 
Sunday, began the grand old hymn : 

* * The church’ s one foundation 
Is Jesus Christ her Lord.” 

An old man and an old woman sat inside the 
yellow house. They had just finished their tea 
and had sat down and read a chapter in the 
Bible before going to bed. 

Mr. Saxon had closed the book and was about 
to kneel down and pray when the boys’ hymn 
reached his ears. 

“ Listen, listen, wife,” he said clasping his 
withered hands, “and think of the singing in 
paradise.” 

“ With his own blood he bought her — his holy 
church,” murmured Mrs. Saxon. “Oh how can 
we refuse to hear him ; but those dear boys — 
they must come in.” 

She got up and hobbled to the door. “ Enter, 
laddies, you are always welcome.” 

The boys came quietly into the house and 
took off their caps. Bernard slipped aside and 
laid three paper bags on a chair, but Mrs. Sax- 
on’s bright eyes espied him. 

“ Now, laddie,” she said, “ what have you got 
there? Oh, my, my,” and she took up one bag 
after another and put her head down to it. 
“ Doughnuts and cheese and a whole apple pie. 
Oh, father, father, we’ll have a bountiful feast 
to-morrow.” 

“ Can’t you eat some to-night? ” said Will. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 275 

“ We don’t dare to, my laddie, we’d be ill. 
No, father, don’t look at the pie.” 

“Can we do anything for you?” asked Jed. 
“ Is your wood brought in ? ” 

“Yes, thank you, thank you, laddie.” 

“ And your water buckets filled? ” 

“Yes, yes; a neighbor’s boy came in ; where 
have you been to-day?” and Mrs. Saxon sur- 
veyed them affectionately. “You smell fresh 
and nice, like the woods.” 

“Let’s sit down, fellows,” said Jed, “and some 
of you that can talk tell her how the river looks 
and the island. She’s crippled and can’t get 
out,” he added in a low voice to Crawford. 

The boys sat down and gave Mrs. Saxon 
various bits of information, and answered her 
questions for about fifteen minutes. Then Jed 
got up and said, “ We must go.” 

“ I can’t bear to say good-night,” said the old 
woman looking at them as affectionately as if 
they were her own sons. 

“ We’ll come again,” said Bernard. 

“We were just going to pray,” said the old 
man wistfully. “ Will you wait ? ” 

“Yes, if you cut your prayer short,” said Jed. 

“ Sometimes ” then he paused, not wishing 

to be impolite. 

“ I know, I know,” said the old man humbly. 
“ Sometimes I am rather long, but I’ll be short 
to-night.” 

He knelt down, and his wife and the boys fol- 
lowed his example, and he prayed : 

“O Lord, thou dost put into the hearts of 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


276 

these dear boys, who are full of life and strength, 
to come and cheer two lonely old people. When 
they are old and gray-headed may they never 
lack a comforter. Fill them with thy Spirit, 
dear Lord. Now while they are young may 
they believe on thee and give their hearts to 
thee. We ask this for the sake of thy dear Son, 
our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.” 

“Thank you,” said Jed gravely when they 
got up. Then he shook hands with the old 
people. 

The other boys came behind him, and after 
they had filed out of doors Jed looked at his 
watch. “ Just in time,” he said. “ I hate to be 
late. Good-night, Crawford and Indians.” 

“ Good-night, Crawford and Indians,” said the 
other boys politely nodding to Will’s guest. 

“Now run,” said Jed. “No lazy Indians in 
this camp.” 

Old Mrs. Saxon leaned against the doorway 
laughing at them. “ Such a show of heels, 
father,” she said to her husband. “All went 
different ways. What funny boys. I feel as if 
a breath of fresh wind had blown through our 
little house and it does me good — it does me 
good.” 

The little Indians were to have a holiday ; a 
whole and unexpected holiday. Their teacher 
— they all happened to be in the same room at 
school — had been called away from them by the 
death of a relative, and a substitute could not be 
found for her at so short a notice. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


2 77 


The little Indians gathered together and began 
to discuss plans for the next day. This was in 
the afternoon, and their holiday was to be on the 
morrow. They could not have the canoes, for 
the big Indians wished to use them for a picnic. 

“ I know,” said Bernard. “ Let’s go down 
the river on the steamer. We haven’t been for 
a long time, and Crawford here — laying his hand 
on the Montreal boy’s shoulder — would like to 
go. He came to Fredericton by train, you 
know.” 

The boys all assented to this. They liked the 
river trip and then they were anxious to please 
Crawford, who had become a great favorite with 
them. 

“Agreed then,” said Jed. “We meet to- 
morrow morning at eight sharp on the wharf. 
Don’t be late.” 

“ All right, all right,” said the boys, and they 
separated. 

The next morning the little Indians were seen 
scurrying down Regent Street to the steamboat 
wharf. It was a charming morning and a num- 
ber of people were taking the boat for places 
near Fredericton and for the, distant city of St. 
John. 

Crawford watched the scene with great in- 
terest. 

“ Watch out now,” said Will, “ for the draw. 
There now we are off,” as a loud whistle sounded. 
“Now look at the railway bridge.” 

The steamer slowly drew out from the wharf 
and headed for a long bridge over the river. The 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


278 

draw swung open — they could see the two men 
working it, going round and round on the bridge 
— the steamer passed through, and they were on 
their way down the river. 

“ Look at the train coming from Marysville,” 
said Will. u It must wait for the draw to close.” 

Crawford gazed in the direction of the Nash- 
waak, then he began to ask questions about the 
places they were passing. 

There were villages here and there and white 
farmhouses standing among leafy trees, and 
sometimes they passed long green islands with 
barns on them. 

“ Are they for hay ? ” asked Crawford of Will. 

“ Yes,” said Will ; “ the farmers make it on 
the islands in summer and store it in the barns, 
and when the river freezes over they haul it 
ashore on sleds.” 

Soon the steamer gave a cheery whistle and 
began to move toward the left bank of the river. 

Crawford, looking ahead, saw a number of 
people running down to a little wharf. When 
the steamer stopped beside it, some passengers 
came on board and a number of men rolled 
quickly over the wharf to the steamer’s deck 
boxes and barrels containing potatoes, tomatoes, 
corn, bags of wool, and tubs of butter. Some of 
the potatoes rolled out, and the men had great 
fun, jostling and joking each other as they ran 
to pick them up. 

“ This boat has another way of picking up 
passengers,” said Bernard, coming to stand near 
Crawford. “ Has Will told you about it? ” 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 279 

u No,” said Crawford. 

“ Well, you wait and see. Our next stopping- 
place isn’t a stopping-place.” 

The little Indians had all gathered under an 
awning spread over the deck. They went on 
down the river laughing and chattering with 
each other as usual, till after a time Bernard 
said, “ Now, Crawford, keep your eyes open.” 

They were rapidly approaching a pretty little 
village, where Crawford could see no sign of a 
wharf. A boat had put out from the village 
with some women in it, which one man was 
rowing. The man pulled out vigorously toward 
the steamer and Crawford said, u He looks as if 
he wanted us to run him down.” 

“ Come on, down here,” said Bernard, scut- 
tling from the deck down to a place where the 
freight was stored. 

Here was an opening in the steamer’s side. 
To Crawford’s amusement he saw the rower 
cannily getting his boat into a position near the 
steamer. “ We’re slowing up,” said Bernard. 

One of the steamer’s crew stepped forward 
with a long hook in his hand. He caught the 
boat and drew it alongside; then letting some 
steps down by ropes he took the women by the 
hand and assisted them on board. Their bundles 
were tossed after them, then the little boat was 
released and with the solitary rower went bob- 
bing serenely up and down in the swell left in 
the wake of the larger craft. 

“ That’s funny,” said Crawford ; “I’d like to 
try it.” 


28 o 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


“ You can,” said Bernard. “ We’re going to 
stop at a place where they will take us off in a 
boat.” 

“ It reminds me of the way, I have seen pas- 
sengers taken off the Pacific steamers that run 
along the coast of Mexico,” said a gentleman, 
who had been observing the two boys. 

“How was that, sir?” said Bernard respect- 
fully. 

“ There the passengers were placed in a chair 
and lowered from the deck of the steamer to a 
boat. Once I saw a man mischievously hoisted 
instead of being lowered, and he dangled up 
aloft till his comrades saw fit to let him down.” 

“ He must have felt queer,” said Bernard. 

“Are you going to St. John?” asked the 
gentleman. 

“No, sir, we’re just having a trip to lower 
Gagetown and back. We get dinner there and 
then take the other steamer from St. John to 
get home. Come, Crawford, let’s find the other 
chaps,” and touching their caps to their ques- 
tioner they went away. 

The little Indians visited every nook and 
corner of the steamer, which was named for an 
old captain who used to sail up and down the 
river ; then finally they settled down in a group 
on deck to wait patiently till they should arrive 
at their destination. 

They watched the cranes standing in the 
water, lazily looking for fish or flying across the 
meadows, their long legs sticking out behind 
them, their necks doubled up in front, and Craw- 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


28l 


ford stared intently at a horse ferry — a big, flat 
boat with horses standing on it, that surveyed 
curiously the man who was sculling them across 
the river. 

At last Dicky Dougall cried out, “There’s 
Tower Gagetown, and a boat is putting out to 
meet us. Won’t they be surprised to see eleven 
boys and a dog. Come here, Yarb,” and he 
whistled to his Irish terrier that was running 
about the deck. 

Yarb went to his master, and with a little 
groan felt himself tucked under Dicky’s arm. 

The boys all hurried below and waited till 
the little boat came ducking and bobbing up to 
the steamer. Then with a loud laugh and a 
jump each lad sprang down the steps and settled 
himself for a row ashore. 

“ Look at the dog’s face,” said Bernard. “He 
looks as if he had had a fright.” 

Yarb sat near his master trembling and gazing 
alternately at the retreating steamer and the 
dark blue water now so near him. 

“He is frightened, ’’.said Dicky. “He hates 
the water. Come here, old fellow,” and he took 
him on his knees. 

A mile and a half the two ferrymen rowed the 
lads, their boat sliding quietly along a green 
shore where all was verdure and freshness. 

“No mud flats here, Crawford,” said Will; 
“and not a bit of barrenness. This is a sweet, 
green river.” 

“ Come on, boys,” said Jed, “ let’s sing to for- 
get our hunger. I’m starving.” 


282 


TEN TITTLE INDIANS 


“ So am I, and I,” joined in the others, and the 
ferrymen grinned broadly as they merrily sang : 

“A loaf of bread, 

A bit of pie, 

We’re not particular 
You and I.” 

“ See those horses a-switching their tails under 
them trees ? ” said one of the boatmen, nodding 
toward an island where some brown and white 
animals were peacefully feeding. 

“ Yes,” said some of the boys. 

“ They’re my father-in-law’s. If you know 
any one in Fredericton that wants to buy let us 
know, will you ? ” 

“ The late summer isn’t a good time to sell 
horses,” said Jed. “However we’ll make a note 
of it. Hello, what’s wrong ? ” 

Splash, splash, and Dicky’s dog that did not 
like the water had gone headlong into it. 

“ He’s into the river sure enough,” said Dicky 
with a puzzled face. “ Come here, Yarb.” 

The dog was paddling about among the lily 
leaves as if he was distracted, but at the sound 
of his master’s voice he clung to the side of the 
boat, and was promptly lifted in. 

“Hear him sneeze,” said Dicky, “and see him 
shiver, and what a silly face. In the name of 
common sense what made you jump in, dog ? ” 

“ He thought he was ashore,” said one of the 
boatman, looking at the beds of yellow lilies 
whose leaves overlapping showed no sign of the 
water below. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


283 


“That’s just it,” said Dicky. “You simple- 
ton,” and he petted the dog, which clung to him 
with wet paws. 

There was a clean little hotel in the place to 
which the boys had gone. In a short time they 
had had a good dinner and were kicking their 
heels on the front veranda. 

“ Aren’t they gamesome ? ” said a woman who 
was peeping from behind a window curtain at 
them. u I admire to hear them talk,” and she 
smiled while listening to their discussion as to 
the direction in which they should go for a walk. 

“ They’re good lads,” said another woman. 
“ I think I’ll show them our birds,” and she 
went out on the veranda and said, “ Would you 
like to see my stuffed birds ? ” 

The boys all sprang up. They loved anything 
that came from the woods, and with brief but 
hearty thanks they followed her to a room near 
by. 

u I say, what a lot,” exclaimed Rollo staring 
about him. “ How many kinds have you, 
ma’am ? ” 

“ About two hundred,” was the reply. 

“ I didn’t know we had as many wild birds as 
that in New Brunswick,” said Rollo. 

“ We have between three and four hundred,” 
she said ; “ but I have not been able to obtain 
specimens of all. We have no good book on 
birds. I have to use a New England one.” 

u Do you stuff them yourself ? ” inquired Jed. 

“Yes,” she replied. “ People know that I 
have a collection and they bring them to me.” 


284 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


“ Crawford, come look at these wild ducks 
with feathers like hair hanging down the backs 
of their necks,” exclaimed Will. “ Aren’t they 
beauties? ” 

“ My father was once visiting the c Zoo ’ in 
London,” said Bernard, “ and he saw some beau- 
tiful wild ducks, and when he asked the name 
they said they were Canadian ducks; wasn’t 
he surprised ? ” 

The boys admired the finches, humming-birds, 
blue-jays, king-fishers, gulls and terns with long 
white wings, some blackbirds with burnished 
necks, but above all the comical little saw-whet 
owls. 

“Aren’t they odd,” said Jim; “they have 
shoulders rising over their ears, haven’t they ? ” 

“ They always look to me like schoolboys in 
knickerbockers,” said the woman who was show- 
ing them about. “ Don’t you know the solemn 
way they have of looking at one ? ” 

“ Why do you call them ‘ saw-whets ’ ? ” asked 
Crawford. 

“ Because they make a noise like sharpening 
a saw. Come now, Indians, this is fine, but if 
we’re to have a tramp before the steamer comes 
we must be off. Thank you, ma’am ; we like 
anything of this sort because we’re in the woods 
so much.” 

In a few minutes the boys had made up their 
minds which way to go, and little knowing the 
result that was to hang on their decision they 
went trooping down the road. 

They were not boys to stay long in the road. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


285 

They soon cut through an orchard, and went 
past a pond where willows grew, through a gate 
and up a hill over a snake fence. Then in and 
out they wound in Indian file among scattering 
pines and tiny spruces to a path that led them 
through the recesses of a lovely wood. 

As they went they stopped frequently to ex- 
amine some shrub or flower, or to listen to the 
occasional note of a bird, or to pry a bit of 
spruce gum from a tree and transfer it to their 
pockets. 

Soon they came upon a quiet pool where big 
green frogs croaked and yellow lilies grew luxu- 
riantly. The boys threw out sticks and stumps 
to make a bridge and gathered a number of the 
yellow flowers. 

Around the edge of the pond were many 
muskrat holes. “ I wish I could see a muskrat,” 
said Crawford. “ I have never seen one.” 

“Wait,” said Bernard; “you probably will.” 

They rambled on by other marshy pools full 
of pretty water plants and tangled grasses and 
clumps of the purple iris. 

“ It’s getting wet,” said Jed who was in ad- 
vance. “ Let’s turn to the right.” 

The boys followed him and he conducted them 
to a place in the wood where there was a number 
of round deep hollows. 

“ Kettle holes,” exclaimed the boys ; and to 
Crawford’s surprise each lad sprang into a hol- 
low and jumped up and down. 

“ Try it,” said Will ; so Crawford too sprang 
in one. 


286 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


“ How do you like them ? ” asked Jim as Craw- 
ford’s head got lower and lower while he hopped 
like the other boys. 

“Not much,” said Crawford clambering out. 
“ I feel as if I was going through to the other 
side of the earth.” 

“ I believe you would, if you stayed in long 
enough,” said Bernard. “ That’s a peculiarity 
of kettle holes.” 

“ Hush up, fellows,” said Jed, who had been 
reconnoitering and now came stepping quietly 
back. “ Come on and let Crawford see a musk- 
rat.” 

They had approached the banks of a small 
river that was making its way toward the wide 
St. John. The boys slowly ranged themselves 
along one side of it. Jed pointed ahead to a 
dark creature like a big rat that was swimming 
down the stream. 

“ It doesn’t see us,” he whispered to Crawford, 
“muskrats have dull eyes but sharp ears.” 

The muskrat landed on a tiny islet near them 
and began to nibble some tender grass that grew 
there. 

“What a thick scaly tail,” whispered Craw- 
ford. I wish ” then he broke off his sentence 

abruptly, and stared at a man who at that in- 
stant appeared on the bank opposite them. He 
was sauntering along carrying his gun on his 
shoulder and was followed by a dog. 

Dicky Dougall’s Yarb, at the sight of a mem- 
ber of his own race, bristled up the hair on his 
neck and opened his mouth to bark across the 


TEN TITTLE INDIANS 


287 

stream ; but Dicky caught him up. The hunter’s 
dog knew better than to open his mouth and 
watched Yarb in discreet silence. 

The hunter noticed the direction that the 
boys’ glances had taken, then as quick as 
thought his gun was off his shoulder and aimed 
at the muskrat that had plunged into the river. 

Bang went the gun, the muskrat turned over 
and over, splashed once or twice, then the hunt- 
er’s dog sprang into the river and taking the 
little animal in his mouth carried it to his master. 

The man held the creature up in his hand. 
“ It’s back is broken,” the boys heard him say. 

“ Why did you kill it ? ” called Jed across the 
river to him. 

The hunter smiled at him. “ I don’t know, 
my boy ; I always kill anything I see when I 
have my gun.” 

“ Did you want its skin? ” Jed went on. 

“ No,” said the hunter carelessly ; “I used to 
skin them ; I never bother now,” and he tossed 
the dead animal back to the islet. 

“You’re not shooting,” said the man lazily 
leaning against a tree and surveying the lads. 

“ No,” said Jed. “ We thiuk it’s more fun to 
see the birds and animals getting about and en- 
joying themselves. We like to live ourselves 
pretty well, and then we belong to a Band of 
Mercy.” 

The hunter did not reply. He was watching 
a second muskrat that was swimming down the 
river. No one needed to explain that it was the 
mate of the first one. It was moving to and fro 


288 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


in the water with its head elevated. It was 
plainly looking for the first one. 

Presently it sniffed at the islet and.climbed on 
it. There was its mate, its body not yet cold ; 
but it would never swim in the river again. 
The little creature with signs of grief pitiful to 
see touched its dead companion and the tiny 
blades of grass hanging from its mouth, as if to 
say, “Is it quite true? Are you really dead? 
Can you not eat that juicy grass and swim to our 
snug home by the river bank with me?” 

“ I wonder what he thinks now about killing 
for fun ? ” muttered Bernard with an indignant 
glance at the hunter. 

The man looked really sorry. “ I wish I 
could bring it back to life,” he said ; and lifting 
his gun he again plunged into the wood. 

Suppose we stroll down to the river bank and 
get on that hill and see if there is any sign of 
the steamer,” said Bernard after an hour had 
passed. 

Jed nodded his head and the boys sprang up 
from the bed of moss where they had thrown 
themselves down to rest. 

“Hasn’t it a fixed time to come?” asked 
Crawford. 

“Not exactly,” replied Guy, who happened to 
be near him. “It’s apt to be delayed at the 
stopping-places and sometimes it has to stop at 
more wharves than others.” 

Helter-skelter, running and jumping, the little 
Indians took a direct course for the river. 


TEN TITTLE INDIANS 


289 

“ Look at the people down there,” exclaimed 
little Percy, who was among the foremost ones ; 
“something’s up.” 

Half a dozen men and boys were standing 
around a man lying on a broad strip of sand. 
The ten little Indians hurried to the spot and 
pressing forward began to ask questions. 

It was the hunter who lay before them, his 
face purple, the water running from his garments, 
and his wet dog howling at his head. 

“ Poor fellow, he’s gone ! I pity his wife ! too 
bad he was so stubborn ! ” were the exclamations 
that the boys heard. 

“ Tell us, quick,” said Jed seizing a man by 
the sleeve, “ how long was he in the water? ” 

“ I dunno,” said the man slowly ; “ ten, fifteen 
minutes, I guess.” 

Jed, the slow, quiet lad, gave a kind of shout. 
“Then he isn’t dead. Quick, boys, artificial 
respiration ! ” 

The countrymen and lads fairly gasped at the 
ten little Indians. Like ten animated machines 
they sprang at the apparently dead men. 

He was lying on his back ; they turned him 
over on his face and let the water run from his 
mouth. Then over on his back he .went again. 

Bernard tore off his coat, and seizing Jed’s 
rolled them together and put them under the 
man’s shoulders, while Jed stood over him and 
counting aloud one, two, three, four, lifted the 
hunter’s arms in the air and brought them down 
on his chest to imitate the action of breathing. 

“ For pity’s sake ; well, I declare,” ejaculated 

T 


290 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


the men watching them. “ What be they agoing 
to do? Tryin’ to get the breath of life back. 
It’s gone, boys, it’s gone.” 

“ Let us alone,” Jed exclaimed ; “ we can’t 
hurt him, anyway.” 

“ Sol Smith has gone for a barrel,” said one 
of the boys ; “ here he comes ; we’ll roll him.” 

“No, no,” said Jed. “ Do you want to kill 
him ? ” 

The man, who had just arrived trundling a 
barrel frantically down to the river, stood and 
gaped at them. 

Some of the little Indians had managed with- 
out interfering with the others to strip off the 
hunter’s wet garments and expose his limbs to 
the hot sun. They were rubbing him systemat- 
ically and thoroughly, and every Indian had his 
coat off and spread under the cold wet body of 
the unconscious man. 

“ I say, doesn’t it beat all to see them,” said 
one of the men. “ Where did you learn this, 
sonny ? ” 

“ In school,” gasped little Percy, who was 
chafing a foot; “we’re taught all this kind of 
thing. We practise on each other.” 

“ One of you fellows take my place for a few 
minutes,” said Jed, lifting his red face, which was 
dripping with perspiration. “You’re stronger 
than I am. Mind now, one, two, three, four, then 
lift the arms.” 

“How did it happen? ” he asked, turning to 
the late arrival, Sol Smith, whose clothes were 
also dripping wet. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


291 


“ He’s terrible impatient,” said Sol, pointing 
to the hunter, “ and he wouldn’t wait for me to 
come and row him across to the Island to look 
at the horses, so he took an old shell he found 
here and started — him that can’t swim a stroke. 
He’d nearly got there, though, when down he 
went, he and the leaky old tub that he was in. 
I dunno where his gun is. I hurried up, for I 
saw him go down, and I dove and dragged him 
out some way.” 

Jed’s ears listened to what was being said, but 
his eyes never left the hunter’s face. 

“ He’s alive,” he said quietly. 

The men pressed around with curious remarks. 
“ My, but ain’t it strange. Run for brandy 
some one.” 

“Not yet,” said Jed, “not a drop of anything 
to drink. You would choke him.” 

“ You’d better let these boys run this thing,” 
said Sol. “ They’re doing it scientific.” 

“ That will do,” said Jed, at last dropping the 
hunter’s arms by his side. “Now, boys, fold 
your coats around him. We don’t need to carry 
him to any house. It’s warm enough here, and 
there’s more fresh air.” 

The hunter opened his eyes, stared up at the 
blue sky, at the men and boys standing around 
him, then said weakly, “Where have I been?” 

“ Rouse up, old man,” said Sol Smith kindly ; 
“ you’ve been drowned ; don’t you remember? ” 

The hunter raised himself on his elbow and 
looked about him. “ I remember,” he said, and 
fell back. 


TEN UTTEE INDIANS 


292 

“ You’d better lie still for a while,” said Jed, 
pulling a hat farther over the man’s brows to 
shade his eyes from the sun. 

“ I’m all right,” said the hunter, and pushing 
the hat aside, he managed to stagger to his feet, 
but quickly sat down again on the sand. 

“ Boys,” he said, “ I’ve been dead. Oh, wliat 
an experience,” and he laid his face on his arm. 

“ There’s the boat whistle,” said Jed calmly. 
“ Come on, fellows, we’ll have to go. You’re 
all right now,” he said, addressing the hunter. 
“ Mind you don’t over-exert yourself.” 

“These young chaps saved your life,” said 
Sol Smith. 

The hunter stared confusedly at them. “ I 
remember they didn’t want me to kill the musk- 
rat. Boys, I’ll never kill anything again. I 
know now what it is to die myself.” 

“ That’s right,” said Jed. “ Good-bye ; glad 
we could help you,” and followed by the other 
Indians he threw his wet coat over his arm and 
started on a brisk walk toward the wharf. 

“I know what Mr. Everard will say,” mut- 
tered Will, who had fallen a little behind with 
Crawford. 

“What?” asked Crawford. 

“ He’ll say, the Lord sent us here to-day,” re- 
plied Will. 

“ I guess he did,” said Crawford soberly. 

A week later the ten little Indians were all 
gathered in the railway station to say good-bye 
to Crawford. 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


293 


“ You’ll come again next summer?” said Jed, 
gripping his hand hard. 

“ Sure, if I get an invitation,” said Crawford 
with a quizzical glance at Will. “ I’ve had a jolly 
time.” 

“ Say, Indians,” remarked Bernard ; “did you 
see the bit in last evening’s paper about us?” 

The Indians looked at each other rather sheep- 
ishly. 

“Yes, yes,” the most of them said; then they 
began to talk of something else. 

At that minute the engine went screeching 
by them ; the train drew up and Crawford was 
obliged to step into one of the cars. 

The ten little Indians went thoughtfully home. 
Bernard, who lived in a spacious house fronting 
the river, ran up the staircase to his room and 
shut his door. Then he pulled from his pocket 
a cutting from a newspaper and read the follow- 
ing words to himself : 

We had a call yesterday from Mr. Simpkins, the well- 
known resident of Lower Gagetown. He wished to acknowl- 
edge through the columns of our newspaper the very great 
obligation that he is under to a number of boys who are 
sons of highly esteemed citizens of Fredericton. These 
boys saved his life by putting into practice the rules of arti- 
ficial respiration. Mr. Simpkins had fallen into the river 
and was apparently dead. These lads arriving on the spot 
as he lay unconscious, took charge of him, and by means of 
methods used in their school, and which we cannot praise 
their teacher too highly for imparting to them, managed to 
counterfeit natural breathing till his lungs were able to do 
their work. This labor the boys accomplished with great 
fatigue to themselves. We have heard before of this club 
of young boys, and of various charitable and philanthropic 


294 


TEN EITTEE INDIANS 


schemes to which they cheerfully lend their aid. We gladly 
add our words of praise to those of Mr. Simpkins. Boys 
that are banded together for noble purposes as well as enter- 
taining ones will make good men and useful citizens. 


Bernard was a handsome lad. He looked 
thoughtfully out through the open window over 
the broad river. Then a smile irradiated his 
face and he folded the bit of paper and put it 
back in his pocket, murmuring as he did so, “ We 
only did our duty.” 





Paice 298. 


X 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


H, dear, dear, this bed isn’t half so soft as 
it used to be,” murmured a little child, 
who was tossing wearily to and fro on 
her cot. 

“ And my pillow,” she went on, rais- 
ing herself on her elbow and looking about her. 
u I guess there must be sticks in it ; I’ll shake 
them out,” and she beat the little straw bolster 
with both her fists. 

Then she put her head down again, but the 
bed did not become more soft nor did the sticks 
seem to have left her pillow, and she lay in the 
semi-darkness — a child crying alone in her grief. 

After a long time she fell asleep and did not 
wake up in spite of the uneasy dreams that 
troubled her until a morning sunbeam touched 
her on the forehead. 

At that she opened her eyes and with a 
strange vague sense of trouble sprang up in bed. 
In an instant it all came back to her. She had 
lain down with grief, slept with it, and now she 
rose with it ; and sighing heavily she dressed her- 
self, and after throwing back the little hinged 
window in the attic where she slept and pulling 

295 



296 JESSIE’S DEBT 

off the clothes from the cot went slowly down- 
stairs. 

Her aunt Maggie, with whom she lived, kept 
boarders, and when she reached the kitchen she 
found it full of the smell of ham that was being 
fried for them. 

“ Open that other window, child,” said her 
aunt, “and then run to the Smiths’ for some 
extra milk — a pint will do.” 

The grocer, the blacksmith, and the school 
teacher, who boarded with Aunt Maggie, were all 
seated at the table when small Jessie returned 
with her milk pitcher. 

“ Hurry up, child,” said her aunt, “ pour that . 
milk into the cups and then sit down and get 
your breakfast. Where’s Tom ? ” 

Tom was Jessie’s brother, and like most boys 
he was inclined to be lazy in the mornings. 

“ He is not up yet,” said the little girl. 

“ Well, go give him a shake and tell him if 
he’s not soon up I’ll be down on him with a 
little switch. Do you hear?” 

“ Yes’m,” said Jessie ; and she toiled up the 
back stairway to Tom’s room. 

How heavy her feet were. It really seemed 
as if they were made of lead. 

“Tom,” she said, taking him by the elbow, 

“ you’d better get up ; Aunt Maggie is ” and 

looking fearfully behind her the little girl 
crossed her two forefingers and held them up 
before the boy’s sleepy eyes. 

“ Oh, my sakes, then, I’ll have to hustle,” he 
said ; “ get out with you.” 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


297 


Jessie left the room and in five minutes Tom 
sounded as if he was tumbling down the stair- 
way though in reality he alighted on his feet. 

The two children took their breakfast in 
silence. Tom listened attentively to the con- 
versation between his elders, and never missed 
lifting his eyes to his aunt as she swept in and 
out of the room bearing hot potatoes, coffee, 
fried eggs, and rolls in her hands. 

Jessie ate scarcely anything and never once 
looked at her aunt. 

When breakfast was over she was called to 
wash the dishes. As it was Saturday morning 
there was no school, and for some time Jessie 
was kept busy waiting on her aunt who was 
making a large supply of pies and biscuits. 

At last the woman threw herself into a rock- 
ing-chair by one of the kitchen windows. “I 
declare I’m dead beat ; I’ll have to rest awhile. 
You can run outdoors and play. I wish your 
mother hadn’t died till you were big enough to 
make beds. Such a nuisance to bring up other 
people’s children,” she grumbled. 

Jessie did not say anything ; but she looked at 
her aunt and her lip quivered. 

Where was Tom she wondered as she walked 
out toward the barn. “Is he here? ” she asked, 
stretching her neck around the door of an empty 
stable where the school teacher was employing 
his holiday by cleaning his bicycle. 

“No,” said the young man ; “I think I heard 
your aunt ordering him on the war-path for 
potato bugs.” 


2 98 JESSIE’S DEBT 

Jessie went slowly up behind the stable and 
along a narrow path that led to a potato patch. 
Yes, there was Tom down on his knees in the 
hot sun looking over and under the potato 
leaves. 

He lifted his red face when he heard her com- 
ing. “ Hello, Jessie,” he said, u guess how many 
I’ve caught ? ” 

“I don’t know,” said the little girl. She had 
not a very good idea of numbers, but she did not 
like to say so. 

“Ninety,” said the boy triumphantly, “and 
I’ve only been here a short while. Help me 
catch some, will you ? ” 

“Yes,” said Jessie, “ I will ; here is one,” and 
stooping down she laid nimble fingers on a crafty 
insect that was trying to conceal itself under a 
curled leaf. 

“ Kill him,” said Tom shortly. 

“ How do you do it ? ” asked the little girl. 

“ This way ; see,” and Tom laid the unfortu- 
nate insect on a flat stone and brought down a 
round one smartly on him. 

Jessie put her bug on a stone and held another 
over him. “ Can he feel ? ” she asked. 

“ I don’t know,” said Tom ; “ I guess not.” 

“ S’ pose I was a potato bug? ” said Jessie. 

“ Then you’d get smashed,” said Tom cheer- 
fully. 

Jessie shuddered. “ I’ll catch them if you’ll 
kill them,” she said. 

“All right,” said Tom ; “go ahead and catch 
some.” 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


299 


After a long time had passed during which 
Tom had caught and executed fifty bugs, and 
Jessie had only brought him three, the boy grew 
suspicious. “ L,ook here,” he exclaimed, “ you’re 
duffing me and letting those things go.” 

“ S’pose I do,” said Jessie. 

“ S’pose you do,” sputtered Tom ; “ the bugs 
will get the potatoes and Aunt Maggie will get 
me.” 

“ It’s wicked to kill things,” said Jessie. 

“No, it ain’t ; not some things. ’Spose we 
didn’t catch mice.” 

“ I’d let them run,” said Jessie. 

“Well, now you’re not to let those potato 
bugs run,” said Tom standing up and looking 
wrathfully at her. 

Just then the school teacher came guiding his 
bicycle around the corner of the stable. “ Say, 
Mr. Taxby,” cried Tom, “is it wicked to kill 
potato bugs ? ” 

“ Wicked to kill them ? ” repeated the young 
man winking his eyes in the bright sunlight 
and trying to take in the situation ; “ not accord- 
ing to my lights.” 

“Jessie says it is,” growled Tom; “and she 
isn’t picking worth a cent.” 

“ L,et us summarize the matter,” said the 
teacher leaning on his wheel and surveying the 
children with one of the amused glances that he 
so often bestowed on them and that they so cor- 
dially detested. “ Shall we sacrifice vermin life 
or human life ? The former by all means, that 
the latter may be spared ; but let us sacrifice 


3 °° 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


mercifully, humanely, and rather as if we sym- 
pathized with our victim.” 

“Then it ain’t wrong to kill bugs,” said Tom 
standing astride a row of potatoes and looking 
half-angrily at the young man, “ not if you do it 
quick.” 

“ Right you are, Mr. Wizard,” said the young 
man leaping on his wheel and gliding down the 
pathway and through the open gate to the road. 

Tom gazed after him. “ You think you’re 
very smart,” he said disdainfully ; then he turned 
to his sister. “ I don’t s’pose you understand 
half his big words.” 

“ No,” said Jessie, “ I don’t. I’ve heard ‘ac- 
cordin’ to lights ’ before, though.” 

“Of course,” said Tom; “that is something 
that grows inside of calves ; and summarize, that 
means belonging to the summer.” 

“ And what is wizard? ” asked Jessie. 

“ It’s a little animal that runs along the 
ground,” said Tom. “ Bother him, I’ll put a frog 
in his water pitcher to-night for calling me that.” 

Jessie sighed and went to sit down on a patch 
of grass. Her trouble had come back to her 
and she had forgotten Tom and the teacher. 

“ What is the matter with you, Jess ? ” asked 
Tom ; “ you’re so grumpy lately.” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” said the little girl, and 
with a half-frightened look she ran away from 
him. 

Tom and Jessie lived in a little sea-coast ham- 
let called St. John’s Rest. 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


301 


One Sunday afternoon they were strolling 
along the shore. Away in the distance was the 
wide and sparkling sea where a few sails stood 
up like sharp white wings against the sky. Near 
at hand was the little harbor with boats drawn 
up on the beach. In the boats were great heaps 
of nets, for signs of mackerel had been seen and 
at any minute the signal might be given for the 
fishermen to put out and catch them. 

Higher up on the beach were great iron pots 
full of the spruce bark dye in which the nets 
were colored to make them durable. 

Beyond the dye pots were the little brown 
houses of the fisher people. A number of fisher- 
men sat in their cottage doors exchanging re- 
marks about the weather and watching the 
games of their children who were playing on 
the sand. 

Tom had ordered Jessie to come for a walk 
with him. He loved his little sister, yet he was 
very fond of ordering her about. 

“ Jessie,” he said when they were some dis- 
tance beyond the last group of children, “ I 
want you to tell me what is up with you.” 

“ What’s up with me,” repeated Jessie feebly. 
“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that,” he said curling his brown fists 
and frowning at her. “ What’s wrong ? You’re 
mopy and mumbly, and I want to know. Are 
you sick ? ” 

“No,” said Jessie, “I am not.” 

“ Has Aunt Maggie been hatefuller than usual 
to you? ” he asked. 


302 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


u No, she hasn’t,” said the little girl. 

“I’ll give you till we get to those rocks,” said 
the boy; “then you’ve got to tell me.” And 
seizing his sister’s hand he started her on a run 
over the firm beach. 

Jessie made no resistance. She was a very 
meek little girl, but she was also a very deter- 
mined one, and pressing her lips together she 
muttered, “ I sha’n’t tell you, Tom Flagg.” 

Soon they reached the heap of black rocks, 
which had seemed very far ahead of them when 
they first started. Both children were so ex- 
hausted that they fell on the sand. Then after 
the happy manner of childhood the boy forgot 
his grievance and the girl her trouble, and they 
both laughed long and heartily. 

“ I say, what a pretty shell,” exclaimed Tom 
at last beginning to dig in the sand. “ I saw it 
first. It’s mine.” 

“ I saw it first,” pouted Jessie, “ but I didn’t 
speak.” 

“Well, I’ll give it to you,” said Tom, “if 
you’ll tell me what is the matter with you.” 

Jessie shook her head. “ I shall not tell you, 
Tom Flagg, and you can just tease all you 
like.” 

“ Maybe I’ll slap you if you don’t,” said Tom 
snappishly. 

“ I don’t guess you will,” said the little girl 
shaking her head. “ Do you ’member the time 
when you hit me and I cried ? ” 

Tom hung his head. “ Oh, stop your talk,” 
he said feebly. 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


303 

“ And if you slap me I’ll — I’ll tell Aunt Mag- 
gie,” said the little girl. 

“No you won’t,” said the boy indignantly; 
“ you’re no tattle-tale.” 

Jessie pretended to be very much interested in 
a crab that seemed uncertain which way to 
take along the sand. 

“I hate Aunt Maggie,” said Tom dreamily. 
“Some day I am going to run away.” 

“ Oh Tom,” said Jessie. 

“ Yes, I’ll be off for a cabin boy,” said Tom, 
“ next fall, when the men go to the Banks.” 

“ Tom, stop,” said the little girl beginning to 
cry. 

“ Yes, I’ll go,” said Tom, “ unless you’ll tell 
me that secret.” 

He had Jessie now, she was caught firmly in 
the net of sisterly affection. 

“Oh, oh,” she said beginning to cry dismally 
and quietly, “ I don’t want to tell you, but if you 
run away I’ll have nobody — I’ll have to jump off 
those old rocks.” 

“That wouldn’t hurt you,” said Tom. 

“ When the tide is high,” said Jessie wiping 
her eyes with her little checked apron. “ Then 
I would drown.” 

“Yes, you would drown at high tide,” said 
Tom, “ if you would stay under ; but Jess, you 
can swim.” 

“ I’d tie my hands,” said the little girl. 

“I wonder what makes Aunt Maggie so — 
so ,” and Tom hesitated for a word. 

“ So scratchy,” said his sister ; “ she’s just like 


304 JESSIE’S DEBT 

a comb that tears your hair and it makes you 
cross.” 

“ She is mad ’cause mother died,” said Tom. 

u And father,” added Jessie ; “ but he couldn’t 
help being drowned.” 

“ I wish she’d got drowned herself.” 

“ Me too,” said little gentle Jessie, and a big 
tear rolled down her cheek. 

“Jessie,” said Tom turning suddenly and 
pouncing on her, “ tell me that secret this 
minute. You promised.” 

Jessie began to whimper and twisted her apron 
in her hand. “ Oh Tom, you’ll never tell ! ” 

“Never,” he said holding her firmly by the 
arm lest she should escape him. 

“ It’s — it’s about a locket,” said the little girl. 

“ Whew,” said Tom ; “ what locket ? ” 

“ My locket,” said the child, and even in the 
midst of her evident perplexity she spoke with 
some pride. “ Look here,” and she drew out of 
her pocket a little brass heart containing a bright 
red stone. “ Ain’t that just sweet, Tom ? ” and 
she tied it round her neck by a bit of velvet 
ribbon. 

Tom stared at it in mingled surprise and 
admiration. 

“ Ain’t it lovely? ” said Jessie. 

“ Where did you get it ? ” asked Tom. 

“At Jones’.” 

Tom did not ask where Jones’ was. He knew 
quite well that it was the shop in the neighbor- 
ing town of Seacliffe where his aunt did her 
trading. 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


3°5 


“ Who gave it to you ? ” he asked. 

“ Nobody ; I bought it,” and Jessie hung her 
head. 

“ You — bought — it? ” and Tom stared at her. 
Ready money was a scarce article in St. John’s 
Rest and the two children rarely had even a cent 
to spend. 

“ Yes,” ejaculated Jessie, “ I bought it, and 
Mr. Jones he charged it ; and how shall I pay 
for it, Tom ? I don’t know,” and the little girl 
dropped her head on her hands and began to cry 
hopelessly. 

“ Whew,” said Tom again, “ you’ve got your- 
self into a pickle this time, miss. If Aunt Mag- 
gie knew it, wouldn’t she give it to you. Maybe 
she would put you in a closet as she did me 
when I broke her old china bowl.” 

“ I ’spect she would,” said Jessie mournfully. 
“ Oh Tom, how shall I pay for this locket ! ” 

“ How much was it ? ” 

“ More’n five cents,” said Jessie looking at 
him out of the corners of her eyes. 

“ Five cents,” said the boy ; “ you are a 
dasher.” 

“ More’n ten,” said Jessie. 

“ Won’t you catch it,” said Tom cheerfully. 

“ It was fifteen,” said Jessie desperately, and 
she looked far out at sea so that she might not 
see the expression of her brother’s face. 

There was a deep silence for a few minutes. 
The little sandpipers went sliding up and down 
the beach close to them, the gulls swooped 
down and almost touched their heads, and the 
u 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


3°6 

black rocks seemed to rear themselves more 
frowningly behind them. 

“ Aunt Maggie will kill you,” said Tom at 
last. 

Tittle Jessie’s face became so pale and terrified 
that the boy was frightened. 

“ Come now, rough up, rough up,” he said, 
slapping her on the back. “ Tet’s try to get some 
money. ’Spose we look at the bank.” 

“I did,” murmured Jessie in a voice so low 
that he could scarcely hear her. 

“You touched my bank ! ” said Tom warmly. 

His bank was a never-failing source of interest 
to him. He had always listened to the talk of 
the grown-up people in the house, but rarely 
asked a question. Having heard them speak of 
the increase of money in the banks, he and Jes- 
sie had with infinite trouble collected three cents 
and buried them in a bank of earth. To this 
bank they often went and digging up the cents 
looked carefully for the others that they expected 
to find beside them. At first they had been full 
of faith, now they were beginning to doubt. 

“There were not any more coppers there,” 
said Jessie with a burst of despair ; “it is a bad 
bank — a bad bank. I can’t get any money any- 
where. Aunt Maggie will send me to prison,” 
and throwing herself on her face she sobbed and 
screamed and tore up the sand with her fingers. 
She was in a passion of childish grief and terror, 
and Tom, who had never seen her like this be- 
fore, sprang up and scuffled to and fro with 
angry eyes rolling about him, and ejaculated 


JESSIE’S DEBT 307 

fiercely, “ I wish Aunt Maggie was at the bottom 
of the sea.” 

After a time Jessie’s grief exhausted itself and 
she allowed Tom to take her hand and guide her 
home. Soberly and mournfully the two trotted 
along together, never once turning to look back 
at the black rocks where some one was peeping 
over a ledge and watching their retreating fig- 
ures. 

After they were out of sight this some one 
came out from behind the rocks and shook her 
skirts. It was Aunt Maggie. 

“Well, I declare,” she exclaimed, looking about 
at the sea and the sky as Tom had done, “ that’s 
all the thanks you get for bringing up other 
people’s children. They wish me at the bottom 
of the sea do they ? And I came out here to get 
a little peace and quietness this Sunday after- 
noon — the only holiday I have. I’m glad I came 
though and chanced to hear their talk.” 

Aunt Maggie did not look very glad. Her . 
face was red and angry just like Tom’s. She 
walked with quick vicious steps in the direction 
of her home, still talking to herself. When she 
came in sight of the first house in the hamlet 
she calmed down a little and tried to smooth her 
ruffled brow. 

There was a woman sitting on the doorstep of 
this house holding a baby in her arms. 

“ Good evening, Miss Flagg,” she said quietly 
when she saw Aunt Maggie. 

“Good evening,” said Aunt Maggie. 


3°8 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


“ Sit down a spell, won’t you ? ” said the 
woman. 

“ I don’t care if I do, Mrs. Chase. I’m fagged 
out,” said Aunt Maggie sitting down on the 
doorstep beside her. “ I work hard all the week 
and when Sunday comes it seems as if I hadn’t 
any strength.” 

“ We all have to work,” said Mrs. Chase. 

“Yes, we work,” snapped out Aunt Maggie, 
“ and get no thanks for it. What with three 
boarders and two children who are always grum- 
bling I have a pretty hard time of it. I expect 
folks think I am a reg’lar pepper-box.” 

Mrs. Chase smiled. Aunt Maggie’s queer 
temper was well known all through the length 
and breadth of St. John’s Rest. “ Your chil- 
dren never talk,” she said; “ they are quiet com- 
pared with other children. I never hear a word 
of what goes on in your house through them.” 

“ Nothing ever comes back to me ” said Aunt 
Maggie ; “ but I always s’posed they talked. All 
children do.” 

“ They don’t seem as if they were just happy,” 
said Mrs. Chase with some hesitation. “ I no- 
ticed them just now going home.” 

“ I’ve slaved and toiled for those children as 
if they were my own,” said Aunt Maggie ear- 
nestly. “ I’ve even laid by a little sum for each 
of them. Don’t I dress them better than any 
other children round about ? Don’t I send them 
to school reg’lar and give them trips to Sea- 
cliff e ? ” 

Mrs. Chase looked down at her sleeping baby 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


309 


with an expression of unutterable love on her 
face. “ Do you ever kiss them ? ” she asked half- 
shy ly. 

Aunt Maggie was off the doorstep in an in- 
stant, her face flaming. “I don’t believe in 
molly-coddling,” she said ; “ my sister was a 
Flagg and married a Flagg. When she died 
and he died I took the children. I consider I’ve 
done my duty by them. What other folks think 
I don’t care. Good evening to you,” and she 
flounced away. 

Mrs. Chase looked after her with a demure 
smile. “The shoe pinches, the shoe pinches, 
and I am glad it does.” 

Aunt Maggie acted rather queerly on the way 
home. She kept sniffing and tossing her head 
as if she were angry, and she made a wide de- 
tour around some fields to avoid passing a certain 
little house where she had been brought up. 

With her young sister, the mother of these 
children, she had roamed these fields and played 
on the beach. What a long time ago it seemed. 
Well, she had nothing with which to reproach 
herself ; she had nursed her sister through a 
long illness and had buried her decently and 
had taken the children to bring up. 

Why then did she cry ? For tears were cer- 
tainly rolling down her cheeks. 

“ Bother,” she said, and dashing them away 
she fairly ran home, and plunging into the 
kitchen she put the kettle on for tea and rushed 
about from room to room like a whirlwind. 


3io 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


“ Where is Jessie ? ” she said when Tom came 
in to get the buckets for well water. 

“ Jessie’s sick,” he said shortly ; “ she’s gone to 
bed.” 

Aunt Maggie said nothing except to signify to 
him by a gesture that he had better hurry. 

A few minutes later, when they were all seated 
at the tea-table except little Jessie, Aunt Maggie 
broke out with a vehement remark : “ It’s a 
wicked shame that we don’t have any Sunday- 
school in this place for the children.” 

The grocer, the blacksmith, and the school- 
teacher looked at her. 

“ There were the boys and girls this afternoon 
all down on the beach like so many heathen,” 
pursued Aunt Maggie. “ We needn’t sing about 
India’s coral strand. I’m going to make a move 
and start a Sunday-school.” 

“ We shall have one then,” murmured the 
school teacher ; “ you are a person of great energy, 
Miss Flagg.” 

“I’ll begin this very week,” said Maggie, “to 
take it up. There are enough Christian people 
in this place to have a Sunday-school, and we 
ought to have a prayer meeting once a week too. 
It’s shameful that we’ve only one preaching 
service a month. I declare, we need a mission- 
ary here.” 

“ Some of us do'powerful bad,” said the black- 
smith ; “ others not so much.” 

“ I do,” said Aunt Maggie; “ I am not what I 
ought to be.” 

No one contradicted her, and she turned 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


3 1 * 

sharply to Tom. “ Tom, do you know who 
Moses was ? ” 

No, Tom didn’t, and he stared at her in sulky 
silence. 

“ There now,” she said, “ you see.” 

Again nobody contradicted her, but she had 
aroused a train of thought and her hearers took 
the rest of their tea in silence. 

After tea was over she washed her dishes and 
went upstairs to Jessie. Tom retreated to a cor- 
ner of the attic when he saw her. 

“Jessie,” she said kindly, “can you eat some- 
thing? ” 

“ I’m not hungry,” said the little girl. 

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” asked her 
aunt. 

The child gave her one glance from a pair of 
frightened eyes, then turned her head away from 
her. 

Aunt Maggie saw a tear stealing down the 
smooth brown cheek and she felt as if something 
had suddenly pierced her own soul. What tor- 
tures the little heart was enduring. 

“Jessie,” she said, “if you will get well by 
Tuesday I’ll put off the ironing and take you to 
Seacliffe with me.” 

The child clung to the wooden sides of her 
cot and half raised herself from the bed. To 
go to Seacliffe — to face Mr. Jones without the 
money for the locket — to have him expose her 
naughtiness in running up a bill without the 
knowledge of her aunt — how could she do it ? 
She must stay at home ; yet her aunt would go. 


3 T 2 


JESSIE’S DEBT 

She would find out; and little Jessie, stupid with 
fright, gazed speechlessly about her. 

“ And I shall give you twenty-five cents to 
spend,” said Aunt Maggie, “in any way you 
like, and I shall not ask you what you have 
done with it.” 

Jessie fell back on her pillow. What balm to 
her soul, what delicious music to her ears the 
words were ; yet could it be true ? Her aunt had 
never been known to do such a thing before. 
Was it — could it be possible that the long-drawn- 
out misery of the past week was over ? 

“Yes, we shall go,” said Aunt Maggie ; “so 
hurry and get well, and here is the twenty-five 
cent piece to look at,” and she drew it from her 
pocket. 

Jessie clasped it as a starving child would 
clasp a morsel of bread. Then turning her back 
to her aunt she buried her face in her straw 
bolster. 

Aunt Maggie went away. She had been 
hasty and severe with the children ; it would 
be some time before she could gain their confi- 
dence. 

Tuesday came ; the clothes were sprinkled and 
folded and put away in a basket, and Aunt 
Maggie and Jessie went to Seacliffe. 

Tom had to go to school ; but he did not 
mind missing the trip to the town, for his aunt 
had promised to take him the next time she 
went. Then he loved his sister, and while he 
bent over his lessons he kept repeating to him- 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


313 


self, “ She has paid for the locket, she has paid 
for the locket, and now she’ll not be grumpy.” 

Jessie was not only less grumpy but she was 
positively wild with delight. Seated beside her 
aunt she was driving home along a beautiful 
winding road. In the back of the wagon were 
numerous interesting purchases : a game for 
Tom, a red dress for herself, and a new hat and 
gloves and some fruit and candy. 

She was so happy, she must do something. 
Suppose she told about the twenty-five cents. 

“Aunt Maggie,” she said shyly, “you haven’t 
asked me what I did with my money.” 

“ No,” said Aunt Maggie, “ I haven’t.” 

“ I bought something with it, something I just 
love,” said Jessie enthusiastically. “ See,” and 
putting up her hand she drew the little locket 
from the bosom of her dress. 

“ Ain’t it lovely ? ” said the little girl eying 
her aunt somewhat doubtfully. 

“ I am glad you like it,” said Aunt Maggie. 

“ I’ve wanted one, oh, ever so long,” said 
Jessie, “ ever since that little city girl came to 
the beach and had one on.” 

“ How much was it? ” asked Aunt Maggie. 

“Fifteen cents,” said Jessie, “and I spent the 
rest in popcorn for Tom.” 

Aunt Maggie said nothing for a time. She was 
wondering whether Jessie was going to confess 
that she had not bought the locket to-day, but 
had only paid for it. 

“I didn’t see any lockets like that in Mr. 
Jones’ show-case,” she said at last. 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


314 

Jessie looked nervously at her. “ I didn’t 
know you were on that side of the store,” she 
replied. 

“Yes, I walked over,” said Aunt Maggie. 

Jessie trembled and Aunt Maggie seeing it 
trembled too. “ O Lord, forgive me,” she mis- 
erably ejaculated. “ How many times I have 
frightened this little soul into telling a lie.” 

“ I bought the last one,” faltered Jessie. 

Aunt Maggie suddenly took both the reins in 
her strong right hand and put her left arm 
around the little girl. “ Tell me all about the 
locket,” she said and kissed her. 

Jessie was too happy to cry, and she was too 
much confused to refuse her aunt’s request. 
Before she fairly understood what she was doing 
she had told the whole story of her trouble. 

“ And you’ve carried that locket about a whole 
week without daring to wear it,” said Aunt 
Maggie. 

“ Yes’m, and it felt like a barrel in my 
pocket,” said Jessie ; “ now I can wear it all the 
time, can’t I ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Maggie. Then she added, 
“ Why were you so anxious to pay for it ? I 
have never told you not to run in debt.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Jessie. 

“ It’s just in you,” said her aunt ; “ your 
mother was like that. She would tell stories 
too. You know it is wicked, don’t you? ” 

“I s’pose it is,” said Jessie. 

“ Why is it wicked? ” asked Aunt Maggie. 

** I don’t know.” 


JESSIE’S DEBT 315 

“Lord, forgive me,” groaned Aunt Maggie. 
“ I haven’t given these children any religious 
training ; but I’ll begin now.” 

Several weeks went by. The Sunday-school 
had been started and Aunt Maggie with secret 
pleasure heard both Tom and Jessie requesting 
to be put in her class. 

“ Seems as if Aunt Maggie is lots nicer than 
she used to be,” said Jessie as they waited out- 
side the schoolhouse for her one day after Sun- 
day-school was over. 

“ Yes, she is,” said Tom ; “ I guess I’ll not run 
away now. Here she is,” and they walked along 
the grass-bordered road beside her. 

“Didn’t we have a nice lesson to-day?” said 
Aunt Maggie. 

“ Yes,” replied Jessie, “ I wish I had known 
about trusting Jesus every day when I bought 
the locket. Can I really, truly tell him every 
little bit of trouble, auntie ? ” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Maggie; “Jesus will help 
us with everything we take to him. If we try 
to bear things alone it almost kills us.” 

“ And I didn’t know he was sorry when little 
boys and girls told stories,” said Jessie ; “ we’ve 
told lots, haven’t we, Tom ? ” 

“ Yes,” said her brother. 

“ Now,” said Jessie thoughtfully, “ I stop to 
think — I must not grieve the gentle Jesus, meek 
and mild, and if we tell stories we shall be 
’shamed to go to heaven. I love the Bible 
stories,” and she affectionately pressed her Tes- 


316 JESSIE’S DEBT 

tament to her cheek. “ What will you tell us 
to-night, auntie ? ” 

“ About Samuel, I think,” said Aunt Maggie. 

“ That’s a boss story,” said Tom. “ I know 
how it goes. Speak Lord, for thy little boy is 
listening.” 

“We shall read it together,” said Aunt 
Maggie. “ Children, I want to tell you some- 
thing — I was out on the sands behind those 
rocks that day when you wished I was dead.” 

The children both stopped short in the road. 
Tom’s face grew crimson, and Jessie’s grew pale. 
Their aunt had been so kind to them lately. 
Would this make a difference? 

“ I’m not going to talk about it,” said Aunt 
Maggie hastily, “ only to say I happened to be 
there and couldn’t help hearing you. Now let 
us go home and get tea. I have honey in the 
comb to-night for you.” 

“ Auntie, I’m sorry I said I wish you were 
dead,” whispered Jessie that evening when her 
aunt bent over her cot to kiss her good-night. 
“ I pray every night to Jesus Christ to make you 
weller and stronger so you can live always and 
always with us.” 

“ Aunt Maggie,” said Tom, starting up and 
peering through the darkness as she went to 
tuck him in his bed, “ a feller often says what 
he doesn’t mean.” 

“ And a woman too, Tom,” said Aunt Maggie 
bending over him. “ I’ve a rough tongue ; but 
all the Flaggs had soft hearts and I guess we’re 
like them. I’ve always loved you and Jessie, 


JESSIE’S DEBT 


317 

but I’ve never thought to tell you so — that was 
the mischief of it, and when you said you wished 
I was dead it cut me like a knife. Thank God, 
I heard you. I’ll be cross to you again maybe, 
for if I don’t pray every hour in the day my 
tongue runs away with me ; but keep this in 
mind, you’re my children and I love you. 

Tom was not a demonstrative boy ; but he 
understood her, and reaching up a hand he 
softly touched her cheek before he lay down 
again. 



XI 


PROUD TOMMIE 


OUD TOMMIE sat on a little stool under 
an apple tree reading a story book as the 
sun went down. 

It was a most interesting book, and 
she scarcely lifted her eyes from the 
pages till she came to number twenty. Then 
she looked up with a gesture of impatience as 
she read some lines written in a round, childish 
hand across the page : 

If my name you want to see, 

Tern to page thirty-three. 

Tommie knew very well whose book it was. 
She had read these lines many times before, 
for it was a custom among the school children 
to scribble them in almost every book that they 
owned, yet from force of habit she turned to 
page thirty-three and there slowly read the 
words : 



Now you are left as you were before, 

Tern to page forty-four. 

The little girl patiently turned over some 
318 


PROUD TOMMIE 


3^9 


more leaves. Forty-four, there it was at last, 
and she knew what was written on it long before 
she got to it : 

Now you see you’re in a fix, 

Tern to page sixty-six. 

Over to page sixty-six went Tommie — 

If my name you cannot find, 

Tern to page seventy-nine. 

The rhyme here was not very good, but Tom- 
mie never thought of that. She licked her 
little fingers and rapidly filipped over the leaves, 
for she was anxious to conclude this business of 
looking for the owner’s name so that she might 
get on with the story. 

Page seventy-nine told her jestingly that she 
had had a look and she had better turn to the 
back of the book. 

Turn was at last spelled correctly, and with 
one more flutter of the leaves Tommie was at 
the end of her journey, finding just what she 
had expected — 

Greta M. Moore owns this little book, 

She lives in the house by the deep meadow brook. 

Tommie heaved a sigh of satisfaction, and 
was just about to make her way back to page 
twenty, when her eye was caught by a rough 
sketch on one of the blank leaves. 

She examined it — at first carelessly, and then 


320 


PROUD TOMMIE 


curiously, then angrily, till finally she flung the 
pretty volume on the grass — and springing from 
her stool she stamped on it, exclaiming furiously, 
“I hate that Greta Moore! ” 

The apple tree under which she stood was 
situated on a little patch of grass in front of a 
small brown cottage. There was the cottage, 
the tree, the grass, a tiny gate, and then a strip 
of dusty road leading in one direction to the 
village, and in the other to a high hill where 
some rich people from a neighboring city had 
summer residences. 

Coming along the road from these big houses 
was an old man in a homespun suit bearing a 
spade on one of his shoulders and walking with 
the aid of a stout stick. 

When he got to the gate of the cottage he 
stopped, and staring from under his heavy eye- 
brows at the little girl who was literally dancing 
with rage, he said, “ Hey, Tommie, what’s wrong 
with you ? ” 

The child started and made an effort to con- 
trol herself. 

“ Come and undo this bothersome latch, will 
ye? ” said the old man, letting his spade slip to 
the ground, “it always beats me.” 

Tommie forgot her passion and ran to let 
him in. 

“ Is your mother in ? ” he asked. “No? well 
then I will settle down here for a bit,” and he 
took possession of Tommie’s stool. 

“ Would ye give me the conclusion of that 
wee bit dance ye were having?” he said good- 


PROUD TOMMIE 


321 


naturedly, yet slyly. “You reminded me of the 
Highlandmen I’ve seen flinging about their toes 
when the bagpipes were going.” 

Tommie hung her head. 

“ What were you vexed about ? ” asked the old 
man; “come now, tell me.” 

Tommie’s wrath blazed up again. “ I hate 
Greta Moore,” she replied passionately. 

“ Oh, oh ; well, ye’re a brave lassie to dare to 
hate any one, especially when the sun’s going 
down so fast. Come, now, tell us smartly what 
the trouble is, and perhaps before yon yellow 
ball gets below the horizon we can mend it.” 

Tommie opened her mouth, but she was a 
child of few words and no explanation seemed 
to come. 

“ Took here,” she said, suddenly picking up 
the story book from the grass and laying it on 
his knee. “Just see that,” and she pointed to 
the sketch that had offended her. 

The old man slowly drew a pair of spectacles 
from his pocket and set them astride his big 
nose, and then stared hard at the page. 

He tried not to laugh, but he could not help 
it. “ My, but that’s mighty clever ! ” he chuckled, 
holding the book now near, now far away. 

Tommie wrathfully watched him. She saw 
nothing clever in the sketch. 

“ Who wrought it? ” asked the old man, tak- 
ing off his glasses and wiping away a tear of en- 
joyment that was trickling down his cheek. 

“ Rob Gerrish, I s’pose,” said Tommie sulkily. 

“ Well, Tommie, mark ye what I say — that 


322 


PROUD TOMMIE 


lad ’ll make an artist. Come, now, be a good 
lassie, let us search into this thing,” and the old 
man dropped his finger on the page. “ Don’t 
fret ye so finely ; ye’ll wear all your flesh off your 
bones, and you but a bairn. This is you, Tom- 
mie Warner, I take it ? ” 

“Yes,” snapped Tommie, and standing behind 
him she looked at the obnoxious drawing over 
his shoulder. 

It was labeled, “ Proud Tommie, the Wash- 
erwoman’s Daughter,” and with a few rough, 
strong pencil marks she was depicted as strolling 
along the street, a flounced dress standing out 
about her, a smart hat on her head, and a para- 
sol in her hand. 

The pride and haughtiness of her appearance 
were ludicrous, while unmistakably pathetic was 
the smaller sketch in a corner of the page of a 
young and slight woman who was leaning over 
a washtub with both arms buried in soapsuds. 

“ Tommie, Tommie,” said the old man, his 
whole frame shaking with silent laughter, “ this 
is a bit hard on ye, I’ll acknowledge it.” 

“ I’ll never go to that hateful old school again,” 
blurted the child. “ It’s just horrid in them to 
call me Proud Tommie.” 

“ I’ve heard them say it,” said the old man, 
closing the book so that he would not be tempted 
to laugh again and hurt the child’s feelings ; 
“ I’ve heard them say it, and I’m grieved that 
you’ve gained yourself such a nickname, for 
you’re a good lassie in other respects.” 

“ Do you think I am proud ? ” asked Tommie. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


323 


“Well, I’m not saying that you’re proud, 
lassie, but do you think now that you help your 
mother all ye can ? ” 

Tommie gulped down something in her throat, 
then she said a little shamefacedly, “ She won’t 
let me.” 

“ Oh, aye ; I daresay there’s more like her, but 
perhaps you don’t beg hard enough, lassie. 
There’s lots of tasks about the house you might 
do.” 

Tommie felt the rebuke, but she was not going 
to admit that she did so. “Well, anyway,” she 
exclaimed, speaking very fast, “ if I am proud, 
I am not half so proud as Susy Brown.” 

“And what has Susy Brown to be proud 
of ? ” asked the old man, with a comical gesture. 
“Good sakes, to hear the lassies talk you’d think 
they were queens on their thrones.” 

“This is the way that Susie walks,” said 
Tommie, showing all her glittering teeth as she 
laughed at the old man. “ Watch now, Uncle 
Ben,” and crossing the grass patch she switched 
the tail of her cotton frock and lifted her stout 
leather boots high in the air as if she spurned 
the ground she walked on. 

Uncle Ben shook his head. “ Well, now tell 
me, what has Susy to be proud of?” 

“ Susy’s sister has a gold ring with a red stone 
in it,” said Tommie. 

“ Oh, aye, a fine thing to have.” 

“And Susy is going to have a party next 
month maybe,” continued the little girl her face 
clouding, “ and they will have a candy pull and 


324 


PROUD TOMMIE 


a great spread in the field ; and oh, Uncle Ben, I 
don’t believe I’ll be asked.” 

“ On account of pride ? ” inquired the old man. 

u On account of the washing,” said the little 
girl. 

Uncle Ben did not reply to her ; he was watch- 
ing the slight, delicate woman of the sketch, who 
was coming up the road. She was dressed in 
black and carried one arm in a sling. 

“ Well, mammy,” cried Tommie affectionately, 
as she ran to meet her, “ here’s Uncle Ben come 
to see you.” 

Mrs. Warner’s pale face flushed with pleasure. 
“ Good evening, Mr. Primrose,” she said ; “ you 
are always kind in remembering us.” 

“ You’re a bit warm from walking,” said the 
old man ; “ I guess we’d better go in the house.” 

Mrs. Warner led the way to her small sitting 
room and threw off the shawl that she wore. 

The arm in the sling she did not use, and the 
old man, looking keenly at it, asked, “ Is the 
bone mending ? ” 

“Yes, thank you ; the doctor thinks that I 
shall be able to use it in a few weeks,” said Mrs. 
Warner. 

“ ’Tis a pity that you broke it just now,” said 
the old man. “ If it had to be done, why didn’t 
ye do it in the winter?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Warner with a 
sigh. “ It is strange that a fall on a loose board 
in the cellar steps could give me all this trouble. 
Yet I suppose it is all right. These trials are 
for our good.” 


PROUD TOMMIE 325 

“ You’ll do no washing this summer for the 
fine visitors,” said the old man. 

“No,” replied Mrs. Warner ; “ and how I am 
going to get through the winter I don’t know. 
I don’t feel bound to tell all the village, Uncle 
Ben, but I’ll tell you, that what I get in summer 
from those rich people on the hill keeps me 
through the winter.” 

“ Oh, aye, I’m not surprised,” said the old man, 
“ ’tis well known they pay you well, and you’re 
quite a pet among them. You’re a kind of a 
sister to gentle folks, your husband having been 
a scholar and a gentleman.” 

“ I wish I had had a good education myself,” 
said Mrs. Warner with a sigh. “ I might have, 
but I never thought of the good it would do 
me, and my parents wouldn’t make me study. 
Children don’t understand these things.” 

“ I guess you’ve made up your mind to bestow 
a good education on the lassie, haven’t ye ? ” 
asked the old man. 

“I’d work my fingers to the bone to keep her 
at school,” said Mrs. Warner warmly. 

“ She takes kindly to her books, doesn’t she ? ” 
went on Uncle Ben, pointing out the window to 
Tommie, who was under the apple tree deep in 
her story. 

“ Yes, she likes study, but,” said the widow, 
“ I wish this teacher would go away.” 

“ Oh, aye, I’ve heard others say the same 
thing,” remarked the old man. 

“When my husband used to teach,” said the 
little woman warmly, “he used to put noble 


PROUD TOMMIE 


326 

thoughts into the minds of the children under 
him. He was a good Christian man, and I often 
cry because he is not here to train his little 
daughter. Oh, why are parents not more care- 
ful about the people they allow to influence their 
children? Tommie is just like wax in Miss 
Miller’s hands.” 

“ And Miss Miller is such a flibbertigibbet of 
a thing,” said the old man ; “ full of nonsense 
about dress and ribbons and the like.” 

“Yes, a poor little shallow-pate,” said Mrs. 
Warner ; “ and she is making the children just 
like her. There was never any boasting or talk 
about pride before she came here, nor any line 
drawn between the families. I was just as good 
as anybody ; but may God forgive me for judg- 
ing my neighbor so harshly. I must bear with 
Miss Miller, I suppose.” 

“ She’s young, perhaps she’ll improve,” said the 
old man charitably. “ But I must tell ye what 
brought me here and I hope you’ll not take it 
amiss. You know the big white house on the 
hill, which is Colonel Warrington’s ? ” 

“Yes, I- do.” 

“ Well, I was up there to-day doing a bit of 
gardening, and I heard Mrs. Warrington, the 
colonel’s lady, asking one of the maids if she 
knew a bright smart lassie with good manners, 
that she could get to come up every day and 
wait on her daughter, Miss Ethel, who is part 
invalid. I made bold to speak up and say I 
knew such a one — a child as it were, yet she could 
shake up the young lady’s cushions and run 


PROUD TOMMIE 


327 


errands for her and wash her dog and such like. 
Mrs. Warrington seemed not to be taken with 
the plan of having a youngling till I mentioned 
it was your child ; then she said, ‘ Let her come 
and see me.’ ” 

The old man paused and waited for Mrs. 
Warner to speak. 

Her face had grown very red and she hesitated 
a little as she said, “You and your wife have 
been very good friends to us, Mr. Primrose, but 
in this case — do you think ” 

The old man put up his glasses that he had 
been holding in his hands and thoughtfully 
scratched his nose. “What’s this nonsense the 
children have of styling her Proud Tommie ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Oh, that is childish teasing,” said Mrs. 
Warner uneasily. “ Tommie boasts a little, es- 
pecially since this teacher came and since she 
hears the other children doing the same thing, 
of what she considers our former greatness. 
That we once lived in a large house and kept 
a servant and a pony carriage she thinks was 
great magnificence. There is really no offensive 
pride in the child. I don’t think it would annoy 
any one in the Warringtons’ position ; in fact it 
might amuse them.” 

“And I suppose you’ve trained her to do 
housework and the like,” said the old man, 
“ such things as might be useful in waiting on 
the young lady.” 

“No,” said Mrs. Warner, “I have not.” 

“ Ah, well, I daresay she’ll pick it up,” said 


PROUD TOMMIE 


328 

Uncle Ben, “ and most easily if she brought her 
mind to it.” 

“ Tommie will do anything for a person she 
loves,” said Mrs. Warner. “ It is my fault that 
she does not help me more. You know what 
children are like, Uncle Ben.” 

“ They’re the laziest creatures that God has 
made,” said Uncle Ben. u Eat, sleep, and play 
is their doctrine ; yet they’ve got consciences. 
Talk to your lassie and see if she’ll try going 
on the hill ; ’twill be a grand chance.” 

“ Tommie, Tommie,” called Mrs. Warner rais- 
ing her voice, “come in, dear.” 

Tommie put her thumb in her book to keep 
her place and came running to her mother. 

“ Oh, dear,” she exclaimed, “ this is the meanest 
story.” 

“What is the matter with it?” asked her 
mother, drawing the child to her with her unin- 
jured arm. 

“ Why, it is called ‘Little Mollie’s First and 
Last Lie,’ ” said Tommie indignantly, “ and I 
thought there would be a dozen at least, and 
there is only one.” 

“My dearest child,” said Mrs. Warner, “do 
you like to read about little girls doing wrong?” 

“ Oh, but it is so lovely when they are sorry,” 
said Tommie enthusiastically. “Mollie steals 
her sister’s necklace and it burns in her pocket 
and she tells stories, then she gets sorry and 
prays, and her sister forgives her ; and I read on, 
for I thought the next story she told would be 
worse than the other, but there wasn’t any.” 


PROUD TOMMIE 329 

“Her first lie was her last?” said Mrs. War- 
ner. 

“Yes, mammy dear.” 

“Well, I think you ought to be glad of it.” 

“ I suppose I ought to be,” said Tommie re- 
luctantly, “ but I ain’t — I mean I am not.” 

“ Tommie dear,” said her mother earnestly, 
“ I want you to be just as good as it is possible 
for a little girl to be.” 

“ So do I,” said Tommie kissing her, “ and 
maybe I will be some day. I try to be now, 
mammy, that is, mother, really truly black and 
bluely I do, sometimes.” 

“ I know,” said Mrs. Warner ; “ but it is im- 
possible for you to be good in your own strength. 
Who will help you, Tommie?” 

“Ask Jesus to help you, he will carry you 
through,” whispered the child in her mother’s 
ear ; then she said aloud and curiously, “ What 
were you and Uncle Ben talking about?” 

Her mother’s arm tightened around her. 
“ Listen, and I will tell you,” she said. 

Tommie’s eyes grew more and more surprised 
as she heard what her mother had to say. 

“ Isn’t that funny,” she remarked, when Mrs. 
Warner had finished speaking, “ that a little girl 
like me can help.” 

“ Do you want to go up to that big house ? ” 
said Mrs. Warner anxiously. “ I shall not force 
you to go if you do not wish it.” 

“ I guess the girls will call me Proud Tommie 
then,” said the child, laughing gleefully. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


330 

Mrs. Warner looked apprehensively at Uncle 
Ben. The teasing girls would call Tommie a 
servant, she feared. “We can try it,” she said, 
“ and if you are not happy you need not stay.” 

“ She isn’t hired yet,” said the old man drily. 
“You women are all alike You think your 
children are jewels that all the world is eager to 
snatch from you.” 

“ I guess — I mean, I’d better finish ‘Little Mol- 
lie’s First and Last Lie ’ before I go to bed,” said 
Tommie soberly, “ if I am to go to the hill to- 
morrow,” and she disengaged herself from her 
mother’s arm. 

“Aren’t children queer?” said Mrs. Warner as 
the child left the room. “ I thought she would 
be so excited that she would not know what to 
say.” 

“ As queer as monkeys,” said the old man 
getting up to take his leave. “ I don’t see the 
pride of this one very much to the fore in this 
case ; but she does not comprehend that she has 
got to work and that the children’s tongues will 
wag. Good-night to you,” and he left the cot- 
tage. 

Mrs. Warner went to look over her store of 
clothes. The child must wear her best frock in 
order to present a good appearance, and yet sup- 
pose Mrs. Warrington wished her to stay — if 
Tommie were set to work washing a dog, for 
example, in that thin muslin, she would ruin it. 

“ There is no knowing what Miss Ethel will 
put her to,” murmured the little woman to her- 
self. “I fancy, like most rich girls, she is 


PROUD TOMMIE 


331 


spoiled ; oh, my baby, how can I let her go out 
into the cold world?” and burying her face in 
the garments hanging before her she burst into 
tears. 

Going up on the hill was not exactly a jour- 
ney into the cold world, yet the poor little 
mother felt that it was, and for a long time she 
cried dismally. “ I have had such grand dreams 
for her,” she said ; “ what a beginning is this ! ” 

“ Duty, duty,” something seemed to say within 
her; “whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do 
it with thy might,” 'and finally she was com- 
forted. 

“ Mother dear,” said Tommie sleepily, when 
she was going to bed, “ what makes your eyes so 
red?” 

“ Give me your shoes,” said Mrs. Warner 
evasively, “ I want to rub some polish on them 
for to-morrow.” 

“ I don’t think I will cry now, ’cause maybe I 
will have to cry by and by,” said the child 
sagely, as she crept between her sheets. 

She slept soundly, yet a kind of subdued ex- 
citement made her wake up with the birds. 

For the first time in her life she slipped out of 
bed before her mother did. What was the first 
thing to do in the morning ? — to light the 
kitchen fire and sweep out the front hall. 

She seized a broom and was just propelling it 
with awkward, eager strokes over the matting 
when her mother called her, “ Tommie, Tom- 
mie, why are you up so early ? ” 

“I thought I might as well begin to help,” 


332 


PROUD TOMMIE 


said the little girl meekly, as she dragged the 
broom behind her and went to speak to her 
mother. 

Mrs. Warner fell back on her pillow laughing. 
“ See, child, you are drawing all the dust back 
again. Never mind sweeping.” 

“ Well, then, I will set the table,” said the 
child vigorously. “ I am going to be smart 
Tommie now; but first I will help you dress.” 

After Mrs. Warner had been assisted into her 
clothes Tommie turned her attention to the 
breakfast table. 

“Two napkins, two knives, four teaspoons,” 
she murmured, “ two plates, two cups and saucers 
— I believe I have everything — all but the flow- 
ers,” and she ran to the garden, where she was 
soon stooping over a bed of dewy violets. 

Some of Mrs. Warner’s neighbors laughed at 
her for always having a flower on her table, but 
she said quietly that a love for the beautiful was 
something that even a washerwoman could cul- 
tivate. 

At eight o’clock Tommie was ready to start 
for the hill, but her mother detained her for two 
hours, saying that rich people did not get up so 
early as poor ones. 

At last when it seemed to Tommie that the 
middle of the day had come she was allowed to 
put on her best muslin dress and her turban 
trimmed with green ribbons. 

Her mother kissed her till her cheeks were 
quite rosy and drew her back and let her go so 
many times that Tommie at last said gravely, 


PROUD TOMMIE 333 

“ Seems as if I must be a mouse that a very 
’ffectionate cat has got hold of.” 

At that speech Mrs. Warner smiled tearfully 
and let her go, and Tommie went spinning up 
the dusty road, soon becoming nothing but a 
little gray speck to her mother. 

Tommie went on gayly, sometimes humming 
a tune and sometimes stopping to pick a flower 
and stick it in her belt till at last she came in 
sight of a big square house that seemed to frown 
down on her from the top of the hill. 

Then she began to feel a little timid and to 
wish that her mother had come with her. She 
did not know that Uncle Ben had said, “ Let the 
lassie go alone. Mrs. Warrington is a proud 
woman, and if you went and there was any hag- 
gling with her she’d get impatient. Tommie 
will not be afraid of her, and the lady is one to 
do the honorable by ye.” 

Tommie went slowly up the steps and pulled 
the door bell. What was it her mother had told 
her to say to the maid who would open the 
door? Is Mrs. Warrington in? No, that was 
not it. Is Mrs. Warrington at home, and if she 
is, please tell her that Mrs. Warner’s little girl 
that she sent for has come. 

Tommie thought she had rung the bell, but 
she really had not and no servant appeared. She 
did not venture to pull it again, but stood first 
on one foot and then on the other her eyes lifted 
to the sky and her lips repeating her message 
louder and louder in her intensity of anxiety 
lest she might forget it. 


334 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“Is that some one preaching on the front 
doorstep? ” said a gentleman who was sitting in 
the near dining room, and he got up and walked 
to the window. 

Tommie did not see him nor observe his 
astonished stare through his eye-glass, but went 
on with her lesson, “ Is Mrs. Warrington at 
home, and if she is, please tell her that Mrs. 
Warner’s little girl that she sent for has come.” 

Colonel Warrington gave way to silent laugh- 
ter. “ Do come here, Gertrude,” he said looking 
over his shoulder, “ and tell me what this 
means.” 

Mrs. Warrington put down her coffee cup and 
went to his side. 

“ That is an odd specimen of humanity,” said 
the gentleman; “she looks like a little race- 
horse.” 

Tommie certainly was not beautiful. She had 
a dark, lean face, small eyes, hair of a peculiar 
shade of brown, and she was at the awkward 
age of growing out of her clothes. 

“Yes, she is,” said Mrs. Warrington, her 
glance running critically over Tommie’s lank 
figure ; “ but she seems wiry and energetic.” 

“ What do you want of her ? ” asked Colonel 
Warrington. 

“ To wait on Ethel.” 

“ That child ! ” 

“ To wait on her,” remarked the lady with 
some irritation, “ not to work hard. There are 
enough servants in the house, and really it is 
very depressing for Ethel to have so many grown 


PROUD TOMMIE 


335 


people about. I thought at first this child would 
be too young ; but I really believe she will 
amuse Ethel.” 

“ Oh, very good, my dear, very good,” said the 
gentleman. 

“ Let us have her in,” said Mrs. Warrington 
ringing the bell, “ I want to ask her some ques- 
tions. 

Just as Tommie was beginning to get a little 
tired of “Is Mrs. Warrington at home, and if 
she is,” etc., a maid in a very white dress and a 
very white cap stood suddenly before her. 

“ Come in,” she said hurriedly without listen- 
ing to a word of Tommie’s carefully prepared 
message. Down in the kitchen she had heard 
three peals of the dining-room bell, which meant 
“ There is some one at the front door whom you 
have not admitted.” 

“In here,” said the maid swiftly opening the 
dining-room door. 

Tommie, intensely interested, gazed straight 
before her, and then made a bow, fearful and 
wonderful in its angularity, to the combined 
splendor of the room and its occupants, for her 
mother had warned her not to rush up to the 
people at the big house with her little brown paw 
outstretched, as she was in the habit of doing. 

“ Good-morning,” said the lady, and the gentle- 
man made Tommie a grand military bow that 
caused her to say later on to her mother in 
enthusiastic tones, “ He bent himself just like a 
bit of whalebone, mother; just like a bit of 
whalebone.” 


336 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“You are Mrs. Warner’s daughter, are you 
not ? ” said the lady ; “ what is your name ? ” 

“Tommie, madame ” then the little girl 

stopped with deep anxiety on her face. She was 
inwardly determined to help her mother and 
put this affair through in a creditable manner 
and she knew that she must pay attention to 
details. 

“Would you mind telling me,” she asked 
nervously, “ if I should say madame or ma’am 
or missis to you ? I just forget what my mother 
said.” 

“ Madame is very good, ma’am a little better 
perhaps,” said the lady encouragingly. 

“I’m much obliged,” said Tommie, then she 
went on like a little wound-up talking-machine. 
“ My name is Tommie, short for Thomasina — my 
dear papa was called that ; he has been dead 
ever so long ; he was a terrible good man, and 
there was a long piece about him in the paper 
when he died. I guess Susy’s Brown’s father 
won’t have half as long a piece when he dies. I 
hope I may be faithful in all things and do my 
duty in every walk of life. The girls call me 
Proud Tommie, but I am not except just a little 
bit, and I never tell stories. Susy does ; she says 
her mother used to have four silk dresses, but I 
know she’s stretching. Anyhow it’s silly to talk 
about clothes ; my mother once had three silks, a 
green and a spotted and a tabby-color. She wore 
the tabby-color when she got married. Then it 
was cut up to make a pelisse for me and there’s a 
sample of it at home in the ebony work-box. 


PROUD TOMMIE 337 

That was one of my mother’s wedding presents. 
She got a butter knife and a book mark and ” 

“ Can’t you stop this flow of eloquence,” mur- 
mured Colonel Warrington in an undertone to his 
wife. 

“Would you like a glass of milk?” asked 
Mrs. Warrington politely. 

“If you please,” said Tommie; “my throat 
does feel rather dry.” 

Colonel Warrington reached out his hand and 
seizing a pitcher of milk from the breakfast table 
hastily poured out a glass of it. 

“ And you think you would like to come and 
wait on my daughter ? ” said Mrs. Warrington. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ What wages would you expect? ” asked Colo- 
nel Warrington mischievously. 

Tommie rolled her round black eyes toward 
him. “ I never thought to ask my mother about 
that. Would fifty dollars a week be too much ? ” 

“Well, I cannot afford to pay you that,” said 
the gentleman holding his newspaper very high 
so that his laughing eyes just peeped over at 
Tommie. “ Perhaps my wife could ; she has 
lately come in possession of some money.” 

“ I am afraid it is a little too much for me 
also,” said Mrs. Warrington shaking her head. 

“ I want to get all I can for mother to live on 
next winter,’’ said Tommie; “but I would not 
want you to rob yourselves. Let’s say five 
cents.” 

“ Five cents a minute or an hour or a day ? ” 
asked Colonel Warrington. 

w 


338 PROUD TOMMIE 

“ Oh, five cents a week,” replied Tommie ; 
“ could you pay that? ” 

“ I’ll ask my banker,” said Colonel Warring- 
ton. u I am just going to write to him.” 

“ Suppose I take you to see Miss Kthel before 
we make any final arrangements,” said Mrs. 
Warrington rising. 

“ Good-bye,” said Tommie cheerfully to Col- 
onel Warrington, “ in case I don’t see you again.” 

“Good-bye,” said the gentleman with another 
bow. 

“ That is a beautiful gentleman,” said Tommie 
as they went out into a handsome hall ; “ but I 
am glad he isn’t my husband.” 

Mrs. Warrington stopped with her foot on the 
lowest step of the staircase. “What do you 
mean, little girl?” she said haughtily. 

“ ’Cause he’s a tease,” said Tommie doggedly. 
“That’s what I mean, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Warrington stifled a laugh. The child 
was sharper than they thought her. Then she 
opened the door of a room where there were 
sunshine, flowers, and a beautiful girl. 

She lay on a sofa drawn across a window, and 
her head with its curls of light hair was propped 
on her crossed arms. 

“Well,” she said, turning a pair of bright 
blue inquiring eyes on them. 

“This is the child whom I told you about,” 
said Mrs. Warrington significantly. 

“ Oh, indeed ; come here, child, and let me 
look at you,” said the young lady languidly. 

Tommie gravely placed herself at the foot of 






Are you Miss Ethel?’ she asked curiously. 


PROUD TOMMIE 339 

the sofa. “Are you Miss Ethel?” she asked 
curiously. 

“ Yes ; why do you ask ? Don’t I look as you 
thought I would ? ” 

“I thought you were sick,” said Tommie, 

“and old — heaps older than I am, and, and ” 

and without finishing her sentence she let her 
eyes wander around the room. 

“ Well, I am neither,” said the girl with a 
laugh. “ I am not very sick, as you call it, and 
certainly I am not old, as my years number 
eighteen, and as for being ugly, if I can believe 
my glass and my friends, I am not that.” 

“ What is the matter with you ? ” asked Tom- 
mie bluntly. 

“ I have a weak back,” said the girl tossing 
back her hair, “ and my doctor says that I think 
it is weaker than it really is. I suppose a per- 
son in your walk of life would call me lazy.” 

“ I’m no walker,” said Tommie briskly. “ I’m 
a runner, and I couldn’t have a weak back — I’d 
break it. Look here,” and ducking her head 
she tumbled her little round cap off into her 
hands. 

“ I don’t see anything more remarkable about 
you with your hat off than with it on,” said 
Miss Ethel, “ except that your hair, which is the 
present fashionable color of brickdust, is consid- 
erably faded on the top.” 

“That’s from running,” said Tommie. 

“ Indeed ! I don’t see the connection.” 

“Here it is,” said Tommie, trying to look at 
the top of her head in a near glass ; “ that’s 


340 


PROUD TOMMIE 


where the faded spot is. After school we have 
such fun running races on the meadows. When 
the wind blows it make me crazy. I tie my hat 
like this, see — ” and she strung her unfortunate 
Sunday turban to her belt — “ then I shake my 
head and run. All summer I wear no hat, and 
by fall my head is yellow on the top ; then 
mammy shears me like a sheep.” 

“ The sun fades your hair does it ? ” said Miss 
Ethel. 

“Yes, lots,” said Tommie. “ Mammy says it 
is a mercy I don’t get a sunstroke. I have 
promised her to wear my hat the rest of the 
summer.” 

“ Take this child away, ma nitre" said Miss 
Ethel in French. “She displeases me.” 

“ Tommie did not know French, but she saw 
the young lady’s gesture and caught the disdain- 
ful accent of the words cet enfant . 

With her eyes almost starting from her head 
in anxiety she said, “ I thought at first maybe I 
would like to come on the hill, but now I am 
here I don’t like it much. Everything is big 
and lonely, and you seem queer ; but I’ll put up 
with lots of things if you will only keep me. I 
will wait on you real well. I can run like 
sixty.” 

Mrs. Warrington said nothing and Miss Ethel 
continued to stare at her. 

“Can’t you keep me?” Tommie continued 
plaintively. “ I want to help my mother and I 
am sorry I used to be lazy. If I don’t stay 
mother will be real disappointed, and I guess we 


PROUD TOMMIE 


341 


will be plumb poor this winter. I will wash 
clothes or do anything. I am not proud. Proud 
Tommie is only a nickname,” and she gave a 
quavering little laugh. “ Why, I’ll — I’ll even 
wash your clothes for you.” 

Poor Tommie ! and she hated the washboard. 

u Mother,” said Miss Ethel, flinging one of 
her white arms impatiently over her head, “this 
girl will get on in the world. If we both started 
now, she and I without a cent, she would beat 
me in the race. Look at her. Isn’t she the pic- 
ture of resolution? How old are you, child?” 

Tommie stood with her hands on her hips, her 
slender, lean neck stretched forward, and her 
dark, thin face aglow with excitement. Her 
whole appearance was not unlike that of the 
little racehorse to which Colonel Warrington 
likened her. 

“ Well,” she said, pausing an instant to think 
of a diplomatic answer, “ I am only ten by the 
big Bible, but if you saw me w T ork you would 
think I was a hundred.” 

Miss Ethel burst out laughing. “Let her 
stay, mother. Let her stay, by all means.” 

About three o’clock that afternoon Mrs. War- 
ner, looking toward the hill, saw something like 
a dusty comet coming in her direction. 

u There is my child,” she said, her mother’s 
heart stirring gladly within her. 

“ Well,” she said breathlessly, as Tommie 
pulled up at the gate ; “ what kind of a time 
have you had ? ” 


342 


PROUD TOMMIE 


Tommie looked tired. “I have had an ele- 
gant time,” she gasped, sinking on the low 
stone step in front of the door, “ just elegant ; 
but I am glad to get home,” and an immense 
relief was in her tone as she glanced at their 
little brown cottage. “ I have had lots of fun, 
lots. I think it is a beautiful thing to work and 
earn money.” 

“What did you do?” asked Mrs. Warner. 

“ I talked to Miss Ethel ; first she was kind of 
cross.” 

“ Cross ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Warner. 

“Yes, but I guess she was sorry after, I mean 
I think she was, but she didn’t say. They didn’t 
want me much, but I begged like ten dogs to 
stay.” 

“ Ten dogs,” said Mrs. Warner ; “ Oh Tom- 
mie ! And they didn’t want you ? Here, child, 
drink some of this cool well water, your face is 
like a poppy.” 

Tommie drank the water, fanned herself, and 
between whiles gave her mother a jerky account 
of the hours spent on the hill. 

“ But I stayed, and I am to go to-morrow, and 
I washed Miss Ethel’s dog, and when I said I 
had on my best dress she laughed. He is a curly 
fellow, and when you throw a ball out of the win- 
dow he runs and gets it — and I had dinner with 
a lot of women in white caps, only they didn’t 
call it that.” 

“ Lunch,” suggested Mrs. Warner. 

“Yes, and curly dog Dover followed me and 
begged for scraps of meat, and Miss Ethel gave 


PROUD TOMMIE 


343 


me some strawberries and cream in her room 
and Dover begged for them, and when he got 
them he made a face. He will eat biscuits, 
though — buttered. ’ ’ 

“Does Miss Ethel walk downstairs?” asked 
Mrs. Warner. 

“Yes, with a stick ; and I asked her if I could 
go for a drive with her to-morrow, and she 
laughed and said yes. She laughs all the time ; 
and before I came away she said maybe she 
would give me a party in that grass field in 
front of her house.” 

“ On her lawn, you mean,” said Mrs. Warner ; 
“ but surely, Tommie, you must be mistaken.” 

“ I am not, mammy dear. I told her how 
mean Susy Brown is, and she said what could I 
do to make Susy real mad, and I said if I could 
give a party she would be madder than hops.” 

“ Oh, Tommie ! ” 

“ Then I was sorry, like little Mollie, and I 
said wouldn’t it be better to heap coals of fire 
on her head, and Miss Ethel said yes, that would 
burn ; and we are going to give a party that will 
beat her’s hollow, and ask her.” 

“ And be nice to her ? ” said Mrs. Warner, 
“ and not let her feel that you are trying to show 
off?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Tommie indifferently ; “ only I 
hope she will have the sense to be ashamed of 
her mean tricks.” 

“You are very hot and very excited,” said 
Mrs. Warner. “ I think I never saw you so much 
so. You must stop talking and lie down.” 


344 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“ I am to be there at ten o’clock to-morrow 
morning,” said Tommie as she stretched herself 
on the black haircloth sofa in the parlor, “ and 
Miss Ethel says I am the funniest little girl she 
ever met, and the most ridge — ridge — it is some- 
tiling like ridgepole.” 

“ Original ? ” said her mother. 

“Yes, that is it,” said Tommie. “ Oh, mam- 
my, why isn’t everybody born rich ? It is such 
fun to have a beautiful house and beautiful 
clothes and beautiful things to eat.” 

“Tommie, Tommie,” said her mother, “riches 
are a snare and a temptation very often. Don’t 
you know the Bible says so? Don’t wish too 
much to be rich. I want you to be a ladylike, 
well-educated little girl, but it seems to me now 
that if I had my own way I would not be will- 
ing for you to have much money.” 

“ I could give lots of parties if I was as rich 
as Miss Ethel,” said Tommie. 

“ There,” exclaimed Mrs. Warner, “ your first 
thought is of self-indulgence.” 

“ What is that, mammy ? ” 

“ Why, having a good time yourself. People 
who have money should spend it on others.” 

Tommie thought a moment, then she said, 
“ Couldn’t you do both ? ” 

“ A great many people besides you have said 
that, my child ; but you will find that the usual 
effect of riches is to harden the heart.” 

“I would like to try being a rich girl,” said 
Tommie drowsily, but before the words were 
fairly out of her mouth she had fallen asleep. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


345 


While Mrs. Warner sat beside her, demure, 
pink-cheeked Susy Brown came tripping up the 
walk and knocked timidly at the front door. 

“ Come in, Susy,” said Mrs. Warner looking 
over her shoulder. 

Susy minced into the parlor, and staring in 
astonishment at the prostrate figure on the sofa 
said : “I thought Tommie was up at the War- 
ringtons’.” 

“She was there,” said Mrs. Warner; “she has 
just come home.” 

Susy cast a decidedly anxious glance at the 
sleeper. “ Did she have a good time, Mrs. 
Warner ? ” 

“ She says that she did ; of course she had 
some work to do in waiting on Miss Ethel.” 

“Oh, but that ain’t real work,” said Susy 
still in a dissatisfied way, “ like — like washing 
clothes. Ma says she wishes she had known 
about it. I would love to drive around with a 
young lady, and feed her dog and shake her 
pillows. Uncle Ben says that is all Tommie has 
to do. It ain’t being a servant,” and Susy curled 
her lip at the word. 

“ To be a servant is an honorable thing,” said 
Mrs. Warner. 

“No it ain’t,” said the little girl ; “ ’scuse me 
for contradicting.” 

“Jesus Christ made himself a servant,” went 
on Mrs. Warner. “We are put in this world to 
minister to each other. There is no more 
glorious calling than that of serving another. 
Nothing ought to be too humble for us to do,” 


PROUD TOMMIE 


346 

“ Now, Mrs. Warner,” said the child, “ would 
you go out as a hired girl ? ” 

“ Certainly, Susy, if I thought it was my duty.” 

“ I wouldn’t, and I don’t believe Tommie 
would,” said Susy. “ Uncle Ben says she isn’t 
a servant, she is Miss Ethel’s little ‘chiffioner.’ ” 

Mrs. Warner said nothing for a long time ; 
she was puzzling over Susy’s last word. “ Do 
you mean her little chaperon ? ” she said at last. 

“ Yes’m ; and I have come to see if Tommie 
will come to my party.” 

“I think she will be delighted to do so ; when 
does it take place ? ” 

“ I dunno,” said Susy ; “ in a few weeks, I 
guess ; I’ll let her know. I must be going 
now.” 

“Can’t you wait a little longer?” said Mrs. 
Warner politely, and Susy, trotting one foot 
comfortably as she swung to and fro in a little 
rocking-chair, sat for an hour asking questions 
innumerable about the Warringtons’ household. 

Miss Ethel’s back was getting stronger, there 
was no doubt about it, yet Tommie continued to 
go up the hill to wait on her. 

Miss Ethel had taken a fancy to the little girl, 
and though some of her young lady friends 
laughed at the way in which the village child 
was, as they said, “dragged about” with her 
superiors, Miss Ethel paid no attention to them. 

There was a vast difference in the minds of 
these young ladies between living in the village 
and living on the hill. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


347 


Tommie did not appreciate this difference, and 
Miss Ethel, who was of a mischievous disposi- 
tion, liked nothing better than to engage Tom- 
mie in a discussion with some of the young 
ladies whose airs and graces laid them open to 
rebuke. 

“It is delicious to hear the child take them 
down without intending to do so,” said Miss 
Ethel one day to her father. “ Her ideas of life 
are so much purer and more unselfish than theirs. 
I feel a miserable egotist when I listen to her.” 

“ Don’t spoil her,” said Colonel Warrington. 
“ You will be going away by and by.” 

“ I am going to look after her,” said Miss 
Ethel with a little willful movement of her head. 
“ Tommie is a plucky child and deserves some 
help in the race for a place in the world.” 

Colonel Warrington smiled as she walked 
away. She was very like him, this pretty light- 
haired girl of his, much more like him than any 
other child that he had. 

“ I am glad to see her taking an interest in 
something,” he murmured. “We really are 
under a debt of gratitude to her protkgke .” Then 
he lifted up his eyes and said aloud to his wife : 
“There comes Trotters streaking up the road 
with the usual cloud of dust in her wake. What 
energy ! ” 

Trotters was a nickname bestowed on Tommie 
by Miss Ethel, and in the white house she was 
more generally known by it than by her own. 

“Miss Ethel is on the tennis lawn, Trotters,” 
he said when Tommie halted before him. “ The 


PROUD TOMMIE 


348 

doctor gave her permission to knock about the 
balls a little. Go and help her.” 

“I’m late,” gasped Tommie ; “but I’ll make it 
up.” 

“ What a conscience,” said the gentleman. “ I 
wish that washerwoman could be induced to 
bring up some more members of the rising 
generation.” 

Tommie ran under the trees to the back of the 
house. There was Miss Ethel, with a racquet 
in her hand, just about to throw a ball into the 
air. “Go to the other side of the net, Tommie,” 
she said, “and play with me.” 

“If you will just wait a jiffy,” said the child 
dropping on the grass ; “I feel like a steam- 
engine.” 

“ Bah, I am thoughtless,” said the young lady 
looking down at her. “ You would let me kill 
you, Trotters, I believe.” 

“ Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t,” said 
Tommie. 

“ Oracular as usual. Tommie, what do you 
think is going to happen to-day ? ’’ 

“ Are you going to a party? ” asked Tommie. 

“ Bless the child ! you think a party is the 
most delightful thing in the world. No, my 
youngest brother, Reggie, is coming to visit us.” 

“Is he like you? ” asked Tommie. 

“ He is a great tease,” said Miss Ethel. 

“Will he tease me?” inquired Tommie. 

“ He will tease everything and everybody in 
the house, from Dover up. Perhaps you had 
better not come here while he is at home.” 


PROUD TOMMIE 


349 


“ Miss Ethel,” said the little girl scrambling 
to her feet, “ let’s play now, let’s do anything, 
but don’t keep me from coming here. If I 
couldn’t come on the hill I’d get to be crazy, 
like young Sam Pickles.” 

“Why, are you so fond of me?” asked Miss 
Ethel much gratified. 

“No, I’d rather be with my mother ; but if I 
don’t work for you the money will stop, and 
what shall we do next winter ? ” 

“ Nonsense, child, don’t fret,” said Miss Ethel 
lightly. “ You shall not suffer next winter.” 

“I like you too,” said Tommie, “just heaps, 
and I don’t mind doing things for you, ’cept 
when you keep me running too much. I guess 
I’ll miss you, when the freezes come and you 
have gone away.” 

Miss Ethel laughed again. “You shall see 
me again next summer, child. Come, now, let 
us have some tennis. Ah ! there goes the dog- 
cart. Father is just setting out to get Reggie.” 

“ Am I keeping you from going ? ” said Tom- 
mie politely. At times the idea that she was a 
guest on the hill was very strong in her mind. 

“Oh, no,” said Miss Ethel. “ It is a long, hot 
drive. Let us play some before Reggie comes.” 

An hour later the dog-cart crawled slowly up 
the steep hill. Colonel Warrington and a young 
man with a head of thick, light hair sat on the 
front seat. 

When they came in sight of the house the 
young man began to wave his hat at all the front 
windows, and as soon as the cart pulled up before 


350 


PROUD TOMMIE 


the front door he sprang out and threw his arm 
around his mother. “ How do you do, mamma ; 
and where is sister? ” 

“ Out in the hammock ; let us go to her. 
She feels the heat, now that the sun is getting 
high.” 

The two went slowly over the grass until they 
came in sight of Miss Ethel lazily swinging in 
a hammock, when Mr. Reginald bounded ahead 
and pretended to shake her. 

“ Why didn’t you come to meet me, Miss 
Lazybones? ” 

Tommie gazed curiously at the newcomer, 
who turned suddenly to her. “Who is this 
young lady ? Won’t you present me ? ” 

Miss Ethel chuckled with glee. She certainly 
had effected a change in Tommie’s appearance 
during the weeks that she had been coming on 
the hill. The faded light hair had been neatly 
cropped. Tommie’s face was rather aristocratic, 
if it was lean, and she had on a made-over dress 
of Miss Ethel’s — a brown gingham with little 
streaks of red that was most becoming to her — 
while her legs and feet were neatly encased in 
black stockings and shoes. 

“ This is the queen of Ashantee, Reggie,” 
said Miss Ethel, “ and she is here looking for a 
shipment of nice young men, to be sent to her 
native country.” 

“ If you’ll excuse me, madam, I’d rather not 
make your acquaintance,” said the young man, 
bowing low ; “ you would be sure to want me.” 

Tommie scrutinized him. She felt that she 


PROUD TOMMIE 


351 


was getting used to the ways of polite society, 
and she did not feel at all embarrassed. “ How 
do you do ? ” she said agreeably. “ Have you 
got any old postage stamps ? ” 

“ Lots of them, heaps, barrels,” said the young 
man. 

“ I’m making a collection,” said Tommie. 
Then feeling that the hint was sufficient, she 
laid her little brown hand on the hammock and 
again began to swing Miss Ethel to and fro. 

Mrs. Warrington soon went away and the 
brother and sister left together laughed and 
talked of matters as foreign to Tommie’s under- 
standing as if she had really been the queen of 
Ashantee that Miss Ethel had called her. 

Tommie thought that Mr. Reginald was a de- 
lightful young gentleman and his teasing was so 
good-natured that, far from being annoyed, she 
rather seemed to like it. 

Late one afternoon, when it was beginning to 
get cool, Miss Ethel looked up from a book that 
she was reading and said to Tommie, “ Here is a 
German word that I don’t understand. Go down 
to the library and get me the dictionary — the 
German dictionary.” 

“ If I was a little German girl maybe I would 
find it quicker,” said Tommie slowly, putting 
down her picture book. 

“Look here at these crazy-looking letters,” 
said Miss Ethel, “ the dictionary will have plenty 
of them in it.” 

Tommie nodded her head, and with Miss 


352 


PROUD TOMMIE 


Ethel’s dog at her heels ran nimbly downstairs 
and opened the library door. 

“ Hello ! ” said some one. “ What is that 
language? ” 

Tommie started ; she had not seen Mr. Regi- 
nald sitting half buried in one of the big chairs 
in the library. 

“I’m talking German,” she said, “to ’tract 
the ’tention of the German dictionary.” 

“ Talk away,” said the young man, “and see 
if it will come to you.” 

“ Onery orery ickery Ann, filsy falsy Nicholas 
John, sweemy swimy Tommie’s kitten, speak 
book speak.” 

“ Here I am,” said a squeaky voice which 
came from Mr. Reginald’s lips, but Tommie 
pretended to think that it came from between 
the lids of a black book to which he pointed. 

“Thank you, book,” she said gravely, taking 
it up. 

Mr. Reginald sat with his back half turned to 
a large table that stood near an open window. 

“ Oh, my ! ” said Tommie suddenly as she 
passed by the table. 

Mr. Reginald turned round. “ Isn’t that fine ? ” 
he asked, looking at the contents of the little 
velvet box that had caught Tommie’s eye. 

Tommie stood clasping the dictionary to her 
breast. “I wish Susy Brown could see that. 
Her sister’s ring ain’t anything to it.” 

Mr. Reginald smiled. It was very unlikely 
that there should be anything in the village to 
equal his valuable diamond ring. 


PROUD TOMMIE 353 

“ Is it for you, Mr. Reggie ? ” asked Tommie 
in childish curiosity. 

“ No,” he said, “ it is for a young lady.” 

“ And did you buy it with your own money? ” 

“ Yes,” he said, “and a pretty penny it cost. 
I am going to be married some day, Trotters, to 
the most charming girl in the world. Rook 
here ! ” and he drew a photograph from his 
pocket. 

“ You — to be married,” said Tommie, drawing 
back and staring at him in undisguised astonish- 
ment. 

“ Yes, why not? Everybody knows that.” 

“ Well, I declare ! ” said Tommie ; “ mother 
says you look like a boy.” 

“ Run away, child,” said the young man, turn- 
ing to his book with a laugh ; “ you speak un- 
pleasant truths. However, tell your mother that 
I am twenty-five.” 

Tommie stood for a few instants by the table, 
then he heard the door close behind her. 

He read on without interruption for some 
time, then the door opened again. 

This time his mother stood before him. “ Did 
the ring come?” she asked. 

“Yes, mamma,” he said springing up ; “ Ethel 
thinks it is a beauty, and I hope you will. Why, 
where is it? ” and he drew back the hand which 
he had stretched out toward the table. 

Then he frowned a little. “ That child must 
have taken it ; how tiresome.” 

“What child?” asked Mrs. Warrington in 
surprise. 


x 


354 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“ Wait a minute, mamma,” he said ; “I will 
get it,” and going into the hall he went upstairs 
two steps at a time. 

His sister looked up inquiringly when he en- 
tered her sitting room, and Tommie crawled out 
from under the table where she was playing with 
the dog. 

“Will you give me back my ring?” he said, 
holding out his hand toward Tommie. 

“ What ring? ” asked the little girl meekly as 
she scrambled to her feet. 

“ My ring,” he said impatiently ; “ the one 
you took from the table downstairs.” 

“Why, I didn’t take any ring, did I?” said 
Tommie wonderingly. 

“You ought to know,” he said ; “ come, I am 
waiting.” 

“ I guess he’s gone crazy, like young Sam 
Pickles,” said Tommie, addressing her remark 
to the dog. 

“ Ethel,” said the young man turning to his 
sister, “will you get it from her? ” 

“ I don’t understand what you are talking 
about,” said Miss Ethel. “ Do explain.” 

“ It is Violet’s ring that I am trying to get. I 
had it on the table in the library. This child 
was looking at it, then she left the room ; when 
I put out my hand to take it, it was gone.” 

“ Most mysterious,” said Miss Ethel. “ Trot- 
ters, are you sure you did not take it ? ” 

“ Sure,” said the little girl, with an aggrieved 
glance at Mr. Reginald. “ I wouldn’t touch his 
old ring for fifty hundred dollars.” 


PROUD TOMMIE 


355 


“ You had better search her pockets, Ethel,” 
said Mr. Reginald quietly. 

“ I haven’t any pockets,” said Tommie indig- 
nantly. “ I have to carry my handkerchief 
here,” and she patted her waistband. 

“ What is all this discussion about? ” said Mrs. 
Warrington suddenly. 

She had followed her son upstairs and now 
stood beside the little group. 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Warrington has it,” said Tom- 
mie with relief. “ Eet me feel in your pockets, 
ma’am. Your hands are big and won’t go down 
far ; mine will reach to the bottom.” 

“ Stand back, child,” said Mrs. Warrington, 
as Tommie advanced with outstretched arm. 

“Everybody’s cross,” muttered Tommie, re- 
treating to the sofa with the dog. 

“You don’t mean to say that the ring cannot 
be found?” said Mrs. Warrington. 

“Just that, mamma,” said Mr. Reginald, and 
he went over the story to his mother. 

Mrs. Warrington gazed - in astonishment at 
Tommie. “ Why, Trotters,” she exclaimed, “ to 
do such a thing and then to deny it ! ” 

Tommie flew off the sofa, her wrathful eyes 
fixed on Mr. Reginald. “ Did you ever hear of 
Ananias and Sapphira ? ” she asked vehemently. 
“ Do you suppose I want to be struck right down 
this minute ? ” 

“ Come, come,” said Miss Ethel, “ we are 
becoming melodramatic. Tommie, did you take 
that ring ? ” 

“No, I didn’t,” said Tommie wildly ; “ paint 


35 ^ 


PROUD TOMMIE 


me black, paint me blue, scratch my face and 
beat me too, if I did.” 

“ That is enough,” said Miss Ethel, turning to 
her brother. “ She did not take it.” 

“ Then where can it have gone ? ” he asked 
with a puzzled face. 

Miss Ethel shrugged her shoulders. “I do 
not know, but I know that it would be a moral 
impossibility for this child to lie. She might 
take something in a fit of temper ” 

“ No, I wouldn’t,” said Tommie, from the sofa. 

“ But she would never lie about it,” Miss 
Ethel went on. 

Mr. Reginald put his hands in his pockets 
and muttering, “It is a most singular thing,” 
went away. 

u Dear me,” said Mrs. Warrington, “ this is 
very disturbing. Ring the bell, child. We 
must have the servants search the whole house.” 

u And the grass under the window, mamma,” 
said Miss Ethel. “ The wind might have blown 
it out.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Warrington, u there 
hasn’t been a breath of wind to-day.” 

Miss Ethel sat looking earnestly at Tommie. 

“ Do you think I ought to go and help look 
for it ? ” asked the little girl. 

“No, no, Trotters; you won’t be of any use, 
and my brother is a little annoyed. You had 
better go home.” 

“All right,” said Tommie stoically, and she 
was soon trotting down the road at her usual 
gait. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


357 


Mrs. Warner was in great distress of mind. 
She had heard Tommie’s story and she sat 
silently wringing her hands. 

Fortunately Uncle Ben came strolling along 
the road, and she poured her troubles into his 
sympathetic ear. 

“ I’ll mind the house and do you go up to see 
Mrs. Warrington,” he said. 

Mrs. Warner put on her bonnet and shawl and 
hurried toward the hill. Her arm was out of 
the sling by this time, but she would never be 
able to use it for hard work again, the doctor 
said. 

Mrs. Warrington was at home, but could not 
see her. She was entertaining some friends at 
dinner. Miss Ethel would give her a few min- 
utes, the maid said. 

The young lady soon came softly through the 
hall to the little room where Mrs. Warner was 
sitting. 

“ Oh, Miss Ethel ! ” was all that Mrs. Warner 
could at first manage to say. 

“ Don’t trouble about talking the thing over,” 
said the young lady kindly. “ I know what is 
in your mind — the ring has disappeared — no 
amount of talking will bring it back, and the 
best way is to drop the matter.” 

“ But,” stammered Mrs. Warner, “ my child’s 
reputation. Every one will believe that she is 
a thief.” 

“ That cannot make her one,” said Miss Ethel. 

“ And the value of it,” said Mrs. Warner. 
“ You rich people pay so much for your jewels.” 


35 « 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“This stone was not so very expensive,” said 
Miss Ethel. “ It was only — well, it doesn’t mat- 
ter how much it was. If it isn’t found my 
father will probably buy another for my brother. 
I wish you would not worry about the matter, 
Mrs. Warner. My father is looking into it, and 
you are safe in his hands. He has examined 
the servants and had the grounds searched, and 
he is going to the village to do something about 
it. I think he has a clue, though he does not 
say that he has.” 

“And he does not believe that my child is 
guilty,” said Mrs. Warner eagerly. 

“ No, no ; he said he would as soon believe 
that Reggie has it himself.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” said Mrs. Warner 
rising ; “I must not take up more of your time.” 

“ Mrs. Warner,” said the young lady a little 
stiffly, and holding her pretty head very straight, 
“ I am not by any means a religious person, but I 
have often wanted to say to you that I think 
you are bringing up your child in the right way. 
She isn’t all the time prating about being good, 
but she tries to overcome her faults.” 

“ My dear little girl,” murmured Mrs. Warner. 
“ Thank God that she does try to be good.” 

“ She has a quick temper,” said Miss Ethel, 
“and she is given to laziness, but she strives 
against both. I often feel ashamed when I see 
her battling with things that I yield to.” 

“She does not do it in her own strength, dear 
Miss Ethel,” said Mrs. Warner. 

“No, I know she doesn’t. You religious 


PROUD TOMMIE 


359 


people war against your failings with verses 
from the Bible and scraps of hymns, don’t you, 
and you pray for strength ? I often see Tommie 
in a corner repeating something to herself. Per- 
haps some day I shall be religious too.” 

“ Oh, Miss Ethel,” said Mrs. Warner. 

“ I must go now,” said the young lady hur- 
riedly. “Let Tommie come to-morrow just as 
usual, and remember that she always — always 
will have a friend in me. Mary will let you 
out,” and with a charming smile Miss Ethel 
disappeared. 

“ O Lord, touch that dear young lady’s heart 
and make her one of thy children,” murmured 
Mrs. Warner as she left the house. 

Half-way to the gate she met a young man 
who looked like Miss Ethel. 

“You are Mrs. Warner, are you not?” he 
asked, politely lifting his cap. 

“Yes,” said the little woman, “and you are Mr. 
Reginald that I hear my little girl speaking of.” 

“I am,” he said, “and I have stopped you to 
ask whether she is fretting about the little fuss 
we had up here this afternoon.” 

Mrs. Warner hesitated. “ She went to bed 
earlier than usual. I think it did worry her, 
but she did not say so.” 

“ She is an interesting child, don’t let her 
fret,” said the young man kindly. “ I fear that 
I spoke rather sharply to her.” 

“ I thought I heard her crying when she was 
undressing,” said Mrs. Warner; “but when I 
went to her she was singing.” 


360 


PROUD TOMMIE 


u To keep herself from crying,” said the young 
man. “ She is an odd little mortal.” Then as 
Mrs. Warner went away he murmured to him- 
self, “A child’s teardrop is a needless blot upon 
the earth.” 

On reaching home Mrs. Warner said to Uncle 
Ben : “I am not going to worry about this mat- 
ter ; God’s hand is in it, and as a dutiful child 
I will trust him.” 

“The village will be with ye and the hill 
against ye,” said the old man shrewdly. 

By the next morning the story of the lost 
ring had flashed from the hill to the village, 
from the village out into the country, and as 
Uncle Ben had prophesied, Mrs. Warner’s neigh- 
bors and acquaintances and all the people in her 
own station in life were for her and Tommie, 
and openly expressed their opinion that the child 
could not by any possibility be a thief. 

The people on the hill shrugged their shoul- 
ders and said : “Of course the child has it. It is 
just what the Warringtons might expect for ele- 
vating one of the common people to the level of 
their own family. They have treated her more 
like a child than a servant. Perhaps they will 
change their behavior now.” 

One lady even went so far as to say that if the 
village people took to robbing the residents on 
the hill, she would sell her fine house and seek 
summer quarters elsewhere. 

Tommie had heard none of these things the 
next morning, and being young and unused to 


PROUD TOMMIE 


3 61 

carking care of any kind, she woke early, and 
after begging for an early breakfast, ran off in 
the direction of the village. She had a small 
business transaction to accomplish there before 
going on the hill. 

With surprised and gratified vanity she saw 
that she had suddenly attained to a position of 
great popularity. The children came running 
out of their houses to speak to her, and soon 
there was such a crowd at the corner that Tom- 
mie was obliged to take Susy Brown aside under 
a willow tree to name a very serious proposition 
to her. 

The other children watched their dialogue of 
nods, shrugs, and mysterious words and gestures, 
and finally when Susy left Tommie and went 
running to her home, they all settled around the 
heroine like a swarm of bees. 

Six parties — to take place at some future time 
— she was invited to on the spot, and with a 
beaming face and escorted by a bodyguard of 
twelve girls, she at last turned her face toward 
the hill. 

When she passed her mother’s cottage, she 
ran in to kiss her and show her something that 
she carried carefully wrapped in paper in the 
palm of her hand. 

“ Seems as if it’s nice to be called a thief 
when you’re not one,” said Tommie cheerfully ; 
“and I never saw such elegant girls — never, 
mammy ; and Miss Miller kissed me and gave 
me this rosette,” and Tommie drew a knot of 
faded ribbon from her bosom. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


362 

Mrs. Warner’s face grew a little anxious. 
“ Don’t say too much about the vanished ring, 
Tommie,” she said, “but run away to the hill. 
Oh, dear ! ” and looking out the window, she 
sighed at the flock of girls. “ Well, it can’t be 
helped. Run along, pet.” 

Half-way to the Warringtons’ the girls troop- 
ing along the road were overtaken by a phaeton 
driven by a colored coachman. At a gesture 
from one of the two ladies sitting in front he 
stopped. 

The elder of the ladies looked at the children 
and said in a sweet voice, “ Is the little thief 
among you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes’m, yes’m,” and Tommie, blushing 
and bridling, was pushed forward. 

“ Poor child,” said the lady solemnly ; “ so 
young to be so depraved. Yet I always mistrust 
dark-featured children ; they are like Indians and 
gypsies, don’t you think so, Gwendolen?” turn- 
ing to the other lady. 

“ Yeth, alwayth,” lisped her remarkably pretty 
neighbor. 

Tommie did not quite understand what was 
meant, but she knew that she was the subject 
of their conversation, so she blushed and bridled 
a little more. 

“ Are you going to confess ? ” asked the lady 
tenderly. 

“Yes,” said Tommie ; “I was dreadful cross 
yesterday, and after I’ve been like that I have to 
go around asking people to forgive me.” 

The lady saw that Tommie did not know 


PROUD TOMMIE 


363 


what she meant. She was a very clever lady. 
Her friends called her “ the diplomatist,” and 
many a secret had she worried from the breast of 
man and woman. Now she would try her hand 
on a child. She would cover herself with glory 
if she could induce this little common village 
girl to tell her where she had concealed the 
beautiful diamond that had been stolen. 

She fixed her fine eyes on Tommie. She 
leaned over and spoke in a confidential tone and 
with childish curiosity. “ How I wonder where 
that ring went.” 

Tommie looked up admiringly at the charm- 
ing lady whose voice was like music. “ Well,” 
she said soberly, and pointing over her shoulder 
at the village girls who stood drawn up in a 
staring group behind, “we were just talking 
about it. Here was the ring,” and Tommie 
pointed to the lady’s gloved hand ; “ there was 
the open window,” and she stretched out one of 
her arms toward the other lady who was observ- 
ing her attentively from under the shade of her 
red parasol ; “ and there was the big black table,” 
and she pointed to the stolid colored coachman. 

“ Yes,” said the lady ; “ go on.” 

“And the ring went,” said Tommie, “just 
went and nobody saw it. Maybe an eagle flew 
down and took it in his beak. Maybe a man 
came down in a big balloon and reached out a 
stick with a hook on it, cause you know Mr. 
Reggie’s back was half turned and he could not 
see him when he was reading. Maybe a little 
mousie crawled up the table leg and maybe ” 


364 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“ What is that you are holding so tightly in 
your hand?” asked the lady, her sweet voice 
suddenly becoming sharp. 

Tommie blushed furiously and half uncurled 
her little brown fist to see if the treasure that 
she had there was safe. 

The sweet-voiced lady did nothing so vulgar 
as to snatch the tiny parcel that the child held, 
yet it certainly slid almost imperceptibly from 
Tommie’s hand to hers. 

“ Drive on, drive on, Stephen,” she cried ex- 
citedly, while Tommie stood staring incredu- 
lously at her. “ I have the ring. I have the 
ring ; I feel it here inside this paper. I said the 
child would carry it about with her.” 

The coachman struck his horse smartly with 
the whip, the phaeton gave a leap, while Tom- 
mie stood as if rooted to the dusty roadside. 

“ Let me thee — let me thee,” exclaimed the 
other lady in the phaeton. 

The sweet-voiced lady looked over her shoulder 
at Tommie, who had gathered herself together 
and was tearing after them. “No, no, Gwendo- 
len, you might drop it. We are pursued, but 
there comes Reginald Warrington down the 
road. He shall open it, he shall open it him- 
self.” 

The coachman held his whip over the horse’s 
back, and Tommie, open-mouthed and panting, 
ran as she said she could, “ like sixty,” through 
the dust behind, while Mr. Reginald rode smartly 
toward them on his tall hunter, Tartar. 

“ Good news, good news,” screamed the elder 


PROUD TOMMIE 


365 

lady in the phaeton, waving her hand high in 
the air. “ The ring is found — the ring is found.” 

Tommie, with her mouth full of dust, gnashed 
her teeth at the victorious words. She was 
pretty long-winded, but she could not speak for 
a few instants after the phaeton drew up beside 
the horseman and she flung herself on the back 
of it in silence. . 

Handsome Mr. Reginald looked at her in 
amazement, and stooping down from his horse 
took from the lady’s hand the little roll of 
brown paper. 

“ Give me my ring,” Tommie managed to 
gasp out. “You mean lady. You are a thief.” 

“ Oh, protect me, protect me from this little 
cat,” exclaimed the lady childishly, for Tommie 
was trying to climb into the front seat. 

Tommie however, suddenly abandoned the 
attack, for she had just discovered that the ring 
had passed into Mr. Reginald’s hands. 

She hopped nimbly to the road and ran to 
his side, crying, stamping her feet and clinging 
to his trousers’ leg, while she breathed out con- 
fused and wrathful exclamations against the 
mistress of the phaeton. 

Mr. Reginald did not quite understand the 
situation, yet he saw that his duty was to get in- 
side the roll of brown paper. 

“Yes,” gasped Tommie, “hurry up. Open it 
quick. I wanted to give it to you myself, but 
you’ll see,” and she shook her fist at the phaeton. 
“ You’re worse than ten Susy Browns. You — 
you, oh, my,” and looking behind she bit her lip, 


PROUD TOMMIE 


366 

for the village girls, breathless and panting, were 
just drawing themselves up in a phalanx behind 
her. 

Mr. Reginald had at last made his way through 
the network of strings, and throwing away the 
paper, he sat holding up a little ugly brass ring 
in which a red stone was trying to sparkle. 

“ There now,” said Tommie to the discomfited 
lady, who murmured, “ Well, really this is very 
strange. I beg your pardon, Mr. Reginald, but 
I found the little girl acting in a suspicious man- 
ner. I took the ring from her. I thought it 
was your ring. I felt it through the paper. I 
am very sorry.” 

Mr. Reginald bowed politely to her. “ I sup- 
pose you thought this might be called a case of 
circumstantial evidence. You knew that I had 
lost a ring and you felt one inside this paper. I 
am obliged for your interest, but I must say that 
I should regret extremely to find my jewel in 
the possession of this child.” 

“It is most unfortunate,” said the lady. 
“ Stephen, I think you had better drive on. 
Good-morning, Mr. Reginald.” 

“ Good-morning,” said Mr. Reginald, holding 
his hat in his hand as the phaeton disappeared. 

Then laughing all over his face he turned to 
Tommie. 

She was glaring after the retreating phaeton. 
The village girls had drifted away. It was get- 
ting hot and the fun was over. 

“To-morrow,” said Tommie, “I’ll have to 


PROUD TOMMIE 367 

forgive that lady, or maybe to-night. Now, I’d 
like to shake her like a rag doll.” 

“ Poor Trotters,” said Mr. Reginald, biting 
his lip. Then he slipped off his horse. “ Don’t 
you want my handkerchief ? You have without 
exception the dirtiest face I ever saw.” 

“ Have I ? ” said Tommie. “ Oh, dear, I wish 
I had a rocking-chair, I am so tired.” 

Almost before the words were out of her 
mouth, Mr. Reginald had her by the shoulders 
and had swung her carefully up on his saddle. 

Tommie had been up there before, and with a 
grateful, “ Thank you, Mr. Reggie,” she sat pol- 
ishing her face vigorously and talking to him in 
broken sentences. “ I’m sorry I was so ugly to 
you yesterday. I cried when I said my prayers 
last night, and I wrote a ‘ pology ’ — here it is — 
and I went to Susy Brown this morning. Susy, 
says I, I want to trade for that ring your sister 
gave you. It’s all over the village about me 
and your ring, you know, so. I thought I would 
make a good bargain. Susy she hemmed and 
hawed, but at last she traded. I got it for six 
slate pencils, my best doll, five cents, and that 
big whistle you gave me — and you’ll wear it, 
Mr. Reggie, won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, I’ll wear it,” said the young man, slip- 
ping the ugly ring over his little finger. “ Tom- 
mie, I’ll have to beg your pardon ; I spoke harshly 
to you.” 

“ Did you,” said the child quietly. “ I don’t 
’member.” 

“ Good child,” said the young man, “ you are 


PROUD TOMMIE 


368 

more taken up with you own wrong-doing than 
that of others. It’s the other way with most 
people.” 

He unfolded the half-sheet of paper and read 
aloud : “ Before I lay me down to sleep, I ’polo- 
gize humbly and with my heart for bad lang- 
widge used in my mind ’gainst a young genlman 
called Mister Reggie, hoping as he will forgive 
yours truly, Thomasina Warner.” 

“ The writing’s bad, ’cause I hadn’t any light 
’cept the moon.” 

“ That doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Reggie 
gravely, and he folded the paper and put it 
in his pocket. 

“ Do you receipt it ? ” asked Tommie meekly. 

“Yes, I receipt it,” said Mr. Reggie, “with 
thanks for prompt payment.” 

“ That’s good news,” said Tommie joyfully. 
“ Mr. Reggie, I wish I had a horse.” 

The young man had turned Tartar around, 
and with the bridle over his arm was conducting 
Tommie toward the gates of his father’s estate. 

“ Perhaps you will have one some day,” said 
the young man. “Work hard at your lessons 
and try to improve yourself in every way, and 
when you are grown up you will be able to sup- 
port yourself and buy many things that ignorant 
and lazy people have to do without.” 

Two weeks went by, the ring had not been 
found, and although the subject was never men- 
tioned before Tommie by her mother or the War- 
ringtons, she heard of it in other places. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


369 

To Mrs. Warner’s sorrow her little girl devel- 
oped a sudden shyness. She would not go any- 
where alone except to the hill, and when she 
was there she begged Miss Ethel to let her run 
away if she saw a stranger coming. 

One day Colonel Warrington, in strolling 
about his grounds, came upon Tommie — the 
proud and stoical Tommie — in tears under a 
chestnut tree. He stood still, hoping that she 
would go away without seeing him, but she sud- 
denly threw herself on the ground and extended 
her arms to Miss Ethel’s little dog that was fol- 
lowing her. 

“ Oh, Dover,” she sobbed, “ my heart is most 
broke. Once I was like you, and played and 
played. Then they called me Proud Tommie, 
and I asked God to let me help my mother. 
Miss Ethel was good to me, and Mrs. Warrington 
and Mr. Reggie. He didn’t tease me much, but 
the colonel did. I guess he don’t mean it. 
How can he tell how little girls feel ? ” 

The dog wagged his tail and licked her face, 
but Tommie went on more drearily than ever. 
“ The doctor says that mammy’s arm can’t work 
any more. It never can wash, and the winter 
will come. When Miss Ethel goes away, and 
Mrs. Warrington and Mr. Reggie and the colonel, 
what will I do? No little girl that might have 
stole a ring can go away and work, and there’s 
nothing in the village. And mammy cries at 
night ; I’ve heard her. And, Dover, I’m getting 
tired of being a little thief girl. Everybody 
says, She didn’t take it, but where is it ? If it 
v 


370 


PROUD TOMMIE 


wasn’t for mammy and Miss Ethel, and Mrs. 
Warrington and Mr. Reggie and the colonel and 
you, Dover, I’d like to die and go to heaven and 
be happy.” 

“ Trotters,” said a voice suddenly behind her. 

The little girl sprang to her feet. “ Oh it is 
you, Colonel Warrington,” she said with relief. 
“It sounded strange, your voice did.” 

“ What is that little verse I heard you singing 
to my daughter the other day ? ” said the gentle- 
man, sitting down on a circular wooden bench 
under the tree. “ Something about trials and 
temptations. Can’t you sing it for me ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Tommie, “ I will,” and she began 
in an unsteady voice : 

“Have we trials and temptations? 

Is there trouble anywhere ? 

We should never be discouraged, 

Take it ” 

then she broke down. 

“Well,” said Colonel Warrington, “take it 
where? that’s the point of the hymn. Don’t 
cry, child.” 

“Take it to the L,ord in prayer,” gasped 
Tommie. “ But it won’t stay there, colonel, it 
comes back.” 

“ Then what is the good of your religion ? ” 

“ It’s a lot of good,” said Tommie ; “and the 
trouble doesn’t always come back. Sometimes 
it stays. I guess it always does if I ’member to 
put it right. Jesus knows our every weakness ; 
do you know that part, colonel ? ” 


PROUD TOMMIE 


371 


“ I forget it ; sing it to me.” 

Tommie threw back her head and sang like a 
bird as she sat on the grass before him. Dover 
ran his little soft tongue over her hands occa- 
sionally, and Colonel Warrington smiled at her, 
and she soon fell into a more cheerful mood. 

“ I guess I’ll go back to the house now,” she 
said getting up after a time. “ I feel better.” 

“Trotters,” said the gentleman, “that ring 
affair is worrying you.” 

Tommie winced. She could not bear to speak 
of it now. “ I — s’pose it — does,” she said re- 
luctantly. 

“ Well, don’t worry any more. By this time 
to-morrow I hope to have news of it. Don’t say 
a word about it though, and run away now.” 

Tommie stared at him, then a bright smile 
flashed all over her face, and pressing her lips 
together lest she should be tempted to speak, 
she ran swiftly in the direction of the house. 

The next day was wet and stormy, and Tom- 
mie did not go on the hill. 

During the morning Colonel Warrington re- 
ceived a number of telegrams from a neighbor- 
ing town. In the afternoon he left home, and 
in the evening he returned. 

Mrs. Warrington, Miss Ethel, and Mr. Regi- 
nald were at the dinner table when he walked 
in and sat down in his usual place. 

“A wretched day,” he observed, then he 
smiled as he unfolded his napkin and met the 
eyes of his family. 


372 


PROUD TOMMIE 


“ Papa,” said Miss Ethel, “ I believe you have 
been away on that ring business.” 

Colonel Warrington smiled again, and put- 
ting his hand into his breast pocket he drew out 
the sparkling, glittering ring that seemed to have 
gained added brilliancy during its disappearance. 

“ Oh,” cried Miss Ethel breathlessly. “ I am 
so glad.” 

“Take it, Reggie,” said Colonel Warrington 
handing it to his son. “And see that better 
care is taken of it in future.” 

“ Who had it, papa ? ” asked Miss Ethel. 

“ An organ-grinder.” 

“ An organ-grinder ! Where did he get it ? 
Did he steal it ? ” 

“No, or rather yes and no.” 

“ But how could he ? ” asked the young lady. 
“ How did he get into the room ? ” 

“He didn’t get into the room,” said her father. 

“Did he have a monkey?” asked Mr. Regi- 
nald. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oh, and the monkey climbed in over the 
Virginia creeper under the window,” said Miss 
Ethel. 

“ Precisely.” 

“ How did you find all this out ? ” asked Mrs. 
Warrington. “ I haven’t heard before of any 
organ-grinder or monkey being near the house 
that day.” 

“ Papa has been quietly asking questions and 
turning the thing over in his mind,” said Miss 
Ethel. 


PROUD TOMMIE 


373 


“ Yes,” said Colonel Warrington, “ that is the 
way to find things out in this world. The first 
discovery I made was that the diamond was not 
in the room, then it was not out of doors, and 
Tommie hadn’t it, and Reggie hadn’t it — that 
only a beast or a bird could have taken it through 
the open window while Reggie was absorbed in 
his book. From that it was easy to get on the 
track of the organ-grinder who had that day 
passed through the village.” 

“ He was not on the hill, was he? ” interposed 
Miss Ethel. 

“No one had seen him come up, but he must 
have been here,” said her father. “ I had him 
watched, and he soon gave himself away by let- 
ting his thievish monkey run in at other open 
windows. The little creature is a Carthagenian 
monkey, and is as bright as a child. I would 
have bought him only I thought he might get 
us into trouble.” 

“And is the man in jail, papa? ” asked Miss 
Ethel. 

“Yes, he is to be tried next week. I shall 
have to be present. The ring was found hidden 
in his dirty clothes.” 

“ I am intensely relieved,” said Miss Ethel, 
“and I would give a kingdom to see Tommie.” 

“ Have the brougham out and go down and 
see her,” said Colonel Warrington. 

“ It is too bad a night,” said his wife. 

“It won’t hurt her at all,” he said, “if she 
drives.” 

“ I am more glad for Tommie’s mother than I 


374 


PROUD TOMMIE 


am for Tommie,” said Mrs. Warrington. “ The 
poor woman has really lost flesh over this thing.” 

“Tommie is a child,” said Mr. Reginald, “and 
her mother is a woman.” 

“A child, but a remarkably sensitive one,” 
said Colonel Warrington. “ She has had her 
bit of suffering too. Well, I am heartily glad 
to wash my hands of this thing, and thankful 
that it has ended so well.” 

Miss Ethel hurried upstairs and put on a long 
cloak, and then she went to see Tommie. 

What she said, what Tommie said, and what 
Tommie’s mother said, would take too long to 
tell, but one sentence apiece may be recorded. 

“ I feel happy,” said Tommie with a sigh, 
“and little — most as little as Dover. I guess 
I’ll never be Proud Tommie again, and I am 
going to work real hard so I can help mother. 
It’s pleasant not to be a thief girl. I guess those 
folks on the hill will be sorry.” 

“ We propose to do something handsome for 
Tommie in the way of educating her,” said Miss 
Ethel with a charming, middle-aged-lady air. 

Mrs. Warner said, “The hand of God is in 
this thing. He never forsakes the widow and 
the fatherless who put their trust in him.” 











































